


we'll always have paris!

by reaperangelique



Series: mars may sell you kingdoms, but venus crowned me queen. [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Fingering, Comedy, F/F, F/M, Multi, Nyotalia, Oral Sex, Romance, Shower Sex, Threesome - F/F/M, and her sex toys, france's embarrassing ass, i want to die adding these tags., like a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 20:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperangelique/pseuds/reaperangelique
Summary: The Franco-German Ministerial Council convenes in spring and autumn each year, for the purpose of coming to some agreement on matters of interest to both states, including, for example, electric cars and exchange students......but you don't care about that. Neither do Prussia and Austria, sent in Germany's stead toOne Night inParis. Actually a little bundle of petty jealousy, old disputes and neurotic love wrapped up in extravagant sex acts- so, business as usual.





	we'll always have paris!

**Author's Note:**

> most shameful fic to date. in continuity with my main mixed nyoverse. NOW IN A SERIES!!

It really began when, on being greeted by France's open arms and effusive compliments, Austria unsmilingly offered her cheek; and France, without pausing, kissed her quite thoroughly on the lips, showing no regard for what her dark red lipstick would do to Austria's light cherry colour. Prussia, once he had adjusted to the situation, hopefully waited his turn.

It never came; Austria made her thoughts clear in scandalised whispers, fumbling in her little bag for a mirror and practically shaking at the thought that anyone in the upscale lobby had seen this indiscretion, despite France's careless assurances that her people certainly had more salacious things to rubberneck. In the course of this argument, Austria somehow managed to put herself bodily between Prussia and any sort of French welcome. It rather set the tone for the weekend. 

\- 

The Franco-German Ministerial Council convenes in spring and autumn each year, for the purpose of coming to some agreement on matters of interest to both states, including, for example, electric cars and exchange students. 

And as vitally important as Germany finds these topics, and indeed respecting the longstanding relationship between himself and his neighbour, he does not always want to go to Paris when it is France's turn to host, for personal reasons he absolutely denies the existence of. France, for her part, enjoys arriving in Berlin dressed like a very upmarket air hostess with a long list of complaints to bring to Germany's door. He tends to think that experiencing this once a year is quite enough, without also going to _her_ house to let her do it all over again, with a home advantage this time. And the more pressing the workload he must leave unattended on his groaning desk in order to do so, the less he wants to go. 

It is on these occasions that it becomes prudent to plead prior obligations, and delegate to someone possessed of much, much greater experience with France and her ways. He would almost say his big brother enjoys her. Almost. 

\- 

'Prior obligations', of course, generally meant 'I cannot take another attempt on my chastity this quarter, because this time I might just say yes, and the stress will probably kill me (and I cannot afford the time off)'. Prussia was well aware of this when his younger brother, his distressingly cautious little protégé, asked if he would go without quite meeting his eyes; his suspicions were confirmed when Germany made a point of including tourist brochures in amongst the necessary dossiers that he had, of course, already compiled. As if Prussia did not know how to find a _real_ restaurant, nightclub or cabaret in Paris. He was trying to soften the blow of dealing with some rather agonising meetings, in gratitude for Prussia's going at all, and Prussia had to chew his lip to keep the slightly evil grin from being too noticeable as he thumbed through _Fêtes et festivals à Paris_. 

"I know Frankreich will most likely keep you occupied in your free time, but if she should happen to be busy, or you would like to take a break by yourself..." _If you get sick of her._

"Oh boy. Did you know they do day trips to Versailles for only seventy-five euro?" Prussia cut in, not looking up. 

"Yes, I included a hypothetical budget for any trips you want to make," Germany replied, without a trace of irony. "And speaking of budget, your hotel- you'll be staying with the ministers, at- " 

" _Guided_ tour, West! For another thirty-five you get an audiobook, you want me to bring one back?" 

"Preußen, please. The address is written here...even though you should know where it is, it's the usual one. You know we get quite a good rate there." 

Prussia licked his thumb and flipped a page. "No need. 'All of Paris' best tourist spots in half a day'- ambitious but no standards, I like that!" 

Germany paused, still absorbing the first offhanded part of that remark. "What are you talking about?" 

Now Prussia looked up, raising an eyebrow. "L'Arc de Triomphe, Tour Eiffel, Musée du Louvre- " 

"Preußen! Where exactly do you plan to stay? The budget simply doesn't allow for your kind of _expenses_ ," Germany explained, very patiently, with his nostrils beginning to flare. 

"Jesus, West, for a penny-pincher you don't know a bargain when you see one," Prussia said, and he hopped off the desk he had been sitting on, readjusted his pushed-up shirt sleeves, and pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. He'd be leaving in the morning- it was best to suddenly drop bad news on France, rather than let her plot anything in retaliation. She wouldn't know he was coming until it was too late to do anything about it, which was a sad statement that had seen many applications between them, applications he would prefer not to discuss ever again. "She has, what- three or four places in the city and she owes me, I'm good! Y'know- speaking of, who keeps picking these shitty budget conference hotels? Have you had Princess in here again, has she learned how to use one of these- " -he shook his smartphone, sending cutesy pastel-coloured eggs tumbling around the lock screen- "-or is she still sending telegrams 'round the Society of Crossed Keys- oh...'scuse- " 

Prussia tuned out Germany's attempt to firstly correct him, and then get back to the alarming topic of France's apartments. A picture flashed up on his screen, a candid photograph of a woman in the middle of eating a cannolo. Holding back her dark hair from her face with hesitating fingers, her cupid's bow prominent as her lips enveloped the pastry, her eyes glancing up at the viewer. It was, despite all suggestion to the contrary, remarkably flattering. No real name accompanied it, only _Prinzessin_. Prussia found himself tensing up before he remembered his phone was set to vibrate. He cycled through inappropriate ringtones on a regular basis, and his latest favourite was an indistinct, breathy, _mellifluous_ little recording of a back-and-forth he might have had, with the person who might have been calling, under some very pleasurable circumstances. He could imagine what an innocent like Germany would make of it. He'd lean in, puzzled by the poor sound quality and muffled words, the female voice disguised by slight laughter he was not used to hearing. Then some embarrassingly dirty remark made by Prussia would be relayed in unfortunately perfect clarity, and the unmistakable, aristocratic voice replying would suddenly break into a high-pitched moan, and then Germany's big red neck would swell up and his own tie would choke him to death. 

Prussia answered with a slightly sweaty hand, turning from his brother with an apologetic gesture. "...Halloooo? ...Yeee-eeess...ah- not _yet_ \- listen- _listen_ , Prin- tch- what?! Jesus, woman, I'm getting to it! Keep your bloomers on!" 

If the conversation had begun covertly, it had not remained so, and Germany listened with a deep frown that, last time he had seen her, France had informed him would give him premature wrinkles. He'd sought dermatological advice, of course, but the frown stayed, and deepened as Prussia looked a little sheepishly over his shoulder at him. 

"Who is that? Is that Österreich?" He sighed, mostly through his now impressively wide nostrils. "I missed four calls from her earlier. I gave her a list of appropriate times to call during office hours, and will she follow it? What does she want?" 

Prussia flapped a hand at him as if he was trying to swat a bee. "Shhh- SHHH- no, not _you_ , just wait- what? Didn't you _say_ you wanted me to- you fuckin' begged me!" _Ordered me._ "Tsk! Don't complain when I'm doin' you a favour! Do it yourself, Princess!" 

There was a pause, silent but for a faintly annoying warble from the phone he now held out to one side, which really did sound like a bee. Then he turned suddenly and thrust it upon his brother. 

"'S for you. I, uh, I need to take a piss." He was already walking backwards to the door. 

"Wait- don't-!" And he was gone. 

Germany raised the insistently buzzing phone to his ear with the air of a man about to make some tough but fair decisions and announce them in a professional manner. She would _not_ talk her way into going along on another official German ministerial visit. 

\- 

After Prussia had retrieved his phone and absconded for good, Germany could not quite remember all the specifics of the call, though he wracked his brains while he plucked headache pills from his desk drawer, where they were organised by active ingredients and brand names. The key component seemed to have been _France's apartment_ , and what his brother would do there. Yes, he would need supervision. It had seemed an entirely reasonable assertion in the moment, accompanied by almost completely unspoken hypotheticals and implied acts of national embarrassment. In the end, Austria had gotten to him with just one phrase. 

"You know what she is _like_ , Deutschland." 

He quietly gave the go-ahead for her plane ticket, forgetting anything she had said about operas and macarons. 

\- 

Austria smoothed her skirt down as she stepped from the car, briefly eyeing her hose and shoes for signs of disarray. She had come dressed mostly in black for the benefit of the Parisians, wrapped in an inky pea coat; the silhouette was broken only by a silk scarf in shifting shades of rose gold, and the shine of matching pearls at her ears, small statements of fine taste. Her elegance was inarguable, but she was not entirely in touch with the zeitgeist of French chic. Her skirt was slightly bell-shaped, falling below her knees in thick pleats of jaquard; her shoes were prim with small heels and almond toes, and her tights were modestly opaque. She suspected most women at this conference would tower over her on frightening stilettos, and to wear any hosiery at all with one's daringly slit skirt was probably some sort of faux pas. But then there would be the German delegation, all practical footwear and dull ties, and that was comforting. 

Not all Germans were so afflicted; Prussia was as monochromatic as Austria, and admirably sharp, with his charcoal suit and gunmetal shirt hidden under a striking long coat. When she took his arm, they could have been politician and spouse at the funeral of a celebrated couturier. Perfect. 

"You look like you mean business, with your hair up," Prussia said with a sidelong smile, and Austria looked up at him as they passed through security with a brief wave of inconsequential ID cards, updated with new birthdates as and when. She shook her head to clear away the loose curls at the sides of her face, unsuccessfully. 

"This is a formal setting. I did mention that once or twice, I believe, but you elected not to wear a tie even so, I see." She scanned the lobby; there was no need to encourage him by meeting his eyes. She could have heard his smile widen at twenty paces. 

"She wears her hair like that, doesn't she? I mean, I dunno," he continued, and when he brushed a strand of her hair aside for her, she idly tapped his hand away. "I don't pay attention." 

_You liar._ "I do not think she wears it precisely this way. Observe the braid, please." And braided it was, in homage to a vaguely old-fashioned German style, secured with a jewelled clasp; Prussia dutifully leaned back to check, and this time Austria gave his little smile a glance. She was not a competitive person; she merely led by example, and she would never sacrifice her taste for the sake of something so trivial as fitting in. She counted to three before he pushed his luck again. 

"I dunno, it looks similar to me. Broadly, you know. At a glance. You look a little similar- " 

"I do _not_ ," Austria hissed, turning to him fully now, so that he could see how stupid he was being. She was shorter, obviously, and her face was rounder. Her lips were fuller, and more often pursed in discontent; her skin never bore a tan nor many freckles, but several moles, and much more blush. Her hair colour was a full six pages of a hairdresser's sample book away from France's, for goodness' sake. And the eyes- well, even she would admit a passing resemblance in the shade, but the shape was all sorts of different, and she hadn't time to spell them all out to someone who already _knew._ She smoothed out her voice this time. "I do not look very much at all like Frankreich, and would you kindly stop laughing like a fool?" 

Prussia was muffling his chuckles into a fist, resting his other hand on her shoulder; there was something embarrassingly good-natured about his teasing, and she wouldn't stand for it. "Sorry- Christ, touchy- I only meant, it's a bun, right? It's a bun. It's _basically_ the same, y'know, to a guy- Österreich!" 

"Hmph!" She had turned her back on him, bristling. "If you really must persist in this, she wears hers much higher, and tighter, I should think!" 

"Oh, indeed," was the reply, and Austria felt Prussia jump beside her before she heard him swear. "But why are we discussing hemlines, my beautiful Autriche?" 

\- 

She hadn't even worn a skirt. Or a bun. 

Austria watched the way France's stylish cigarette pants grazed her bare ankles, reflected in the tinted car window she was steadfastly frowning at. The dreadful woman kept re-crossing her legs so as to continuously draw the attention. And Austria had been quite right about the high, slender heels, the pointed toes. They were burgundy suede, with no embellishments. They were really quite attractive. 

Austria frowned down at the small bows on her shoes. She was already in low spirits, after spending the series of meetings floating aimlessly between one cup of coffee and the next. It was to be expected, when she had invited herself along where she had no business, but she felt rather useless all the same. It was, she told herself, a sort of osmosis; the people who were _supposed_ to be there almost certainly felt useless too. It was a logical side effect. Bad for one's health, attending meetings one had no need to. It didn't exactly lift her mood, and neither did finally leaving, because now she was in a car with France and Prussia who, for all their genuine enmity, had found plenty to talk about, and not much of it involved her. 

And she still couldn't believe France had had the nerve to wear her hair in that sort of...vivacious but professional little side tail. It was all becoming a bit overwhelmingly rude. 

"And he was going to put you up in La Défense? He is so charming- no, no," France was saying, laughing, leaning against the window her side, to better fix Prussia with her Gorgon gaze. He was sitting in the middle, in the back of the hired car, acting as a buffer. It was fair to say he didn't enjoy the role, but Austria had forced it on him, and he was manfully doing his best to encroach on Austria's seat as much as possible without it looking too obvious that he was trying to pre-empt an inevitable wandering hand. It seemed to entertain France, at any rate. "His memory is short, hm? Isn't that a fond bedtime story you tell him, Prusse? _Côtelettes de chien_?" 

France reached out to pat his cheek, though it sounded like it wanted to be a slap. Prussia recoiled, grimacing as he pushed her away, and almost crushing Austria against her door; she made a very irritated sound into his sleeve. 

"Tch, you think I have time to tell that old chestnut? I have lists of better stories as long as my arm- _ow_ \- and, hah," Prussia snorted, finally fending off France's annoying, pinching fingers, "I don't remember the kid ever requesting any French stories to begin wi- _tsch_!" 

"Would you please," Austria snapped, neatly removing one small but effective heel from Prussia's foot, and primly crossing her ankles again, " _stop_ fighting like children? We are in a car, not a playground. And move _over_ , Preußen, for heaven's sakes- are you trying to push me right out the door?" 

The look he gave her was mutinous, but her own expression communicated her thinning patience quite well, and Prussia took the hint; he duly shuffled into the centre, crossing his arms and letting his head loll back against the seat. "Are we there yet?" 

"Patience. Come, now, my darlings, you shall have all weekend to elbow each other, and me, I expect," France said, and Austria, eyes on the window again, felt her gaze; it fell on her neck where her scarf had slid down into her coat, on the wisps of dark hair curling at her nape, and made them stand slightly on end. She chanced a glance past Prussia's interrupting form, low at first to catch sight of a thin red smile; it was perfectly painted on, and subtle, but it broadened as Austria's eyes hovered over the long, stately nose and seemingly compulsory cheekbones. The shade of the car made the landscape of France's face cast sundial shadows, cool blue shapes obscuring the angles, lighting up the red of the lips, the gold in her skin and everything else. There was a distracting glitter of it hidden in calculatedly tousled hair, gaudy earrings moving with an amused tilt. 

Her own lips twisted in annoyance, and partly in a sulk, but Austria tore her eyes from all these fine details to meet France's. She had to concede for the thousandth time that the other woman had enviable looks, at least two-thirds down to her permanently sultry expression, and flattered more by the minimalism _du jour_ than, say, the extravagant rouge of centuries past. France had, perhaps, never looked better, with her beach-colours, her freckles and her bare blonde lashes, and Austria was not entirely sure she could say the same of herself. She had probably been following the same general manual of style since cosmetics first became readily available to her, some sort of nineteenth century _Rosenrot_. But she dismissed that line of thinking as entirely useless vanity. 

Instead she gave her best unimpressed stare, eyes flickering up and down for a disdainful moment, while she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I hardly came here to spend all weekend elbowing anyone, Frankreich." 

She looked away then, but France's stare lingered, and took on an interesting quality, one Austria was perhaps familiar with but would not acknowledge. 

"No, not _elbowing_ ," France observed, lilting; she looked past Prussia's chest as if he was not there, and he made every effort not to be, unbreathing while the moment hung in the air, his eyes darting between the two women. Austria's gaze slid slowly from the seat in front of her, but not before France broke her silence, and the building tension disappeared almost before it was noticed. "You came to see my _Méduse_ , didn't you, darling?! And so you shall- tomorrow. I suppose you have plans for tonight, as well, hmm? You're so prepared!" 

Austria blinked. The sudden switch in tone was disorienting, and beyond that her only 'plan' was room service and, perhaps, Prussia. "Tonight? Ah- " 

"Then you can spend the evening with me," France continued smoothly and immediately, as if an entire conversation had taken place. This was familiar ground, and the formerly _interesting_ atmosphere collapsed; Austria made a face at Prussia, and _he_ mimed hanging himself, for which she tapped his arm reprovingly. If France noticed, she did not care, a pleasant smile on her face as she leaned forward to speak to the driver. She braced herself on Prussia's knee, which was quite revenge enough. 

"Trocadéro, _s'il vous plaît_. We'll visit the _nice_ flat in honour of the occasion." 

\- 

It was a _nice_ flat, to the tune of one or two million euro. The extravagance both pleased Austria's senses and bothered her sense of thrift. It could be described as a large house unfolded and unpackaged on to a single floor, and almost as easy to get lost in. Not that she was taking the chance; she sat still on a window seat, in what France would possibly call the salon, her fingertips drumming the stem of a glass of white wine ( _with_ lemonade, she had insisted, to France's slight horror at her provincial taste in drinks). 

There was something marvelous about the yellow glow spread across the city like the substance in her glass, turned to light. The windows were expansive, and it poured in with a faint warmth against her face, lit the contours of her deep brown curls up with a striking white-gold. It was a view she rarely caught, living in suburbia herself, on the edge of the country, more used to seeing the sun itself slipping under the horizon than the way it interacted with tall buildings, glittered off all the reflective glass. 

But on the other hand, it meant nightfall. There were two bedrooms in the apartment (two bedrooms! For two million euro!), but Austria had wandered into the guest room looking for a bathroom, and been unimpressed with the designer rags tossed haphazardly over the bed, and the entire wall of wardrobes hemmorhaging shoes and handbags. Not by the _mess_ , it was no worse than her own bedroom, but by the obvious usage as a store room for half the AW15 catwalks. She had no intention of sleeping in France's glorified closet, and even worse, she was sure France had no intention of asking her to. 

This was not just a hunch. Austria kicked her legs moodily, suddenly a schoolgirl, scuffing the intricate Persian carpet with her shoes and studying her own black-clad calves. A bit thick, though to be fair to herself, her ankles were very elegant. Her thoughts were very much on _legs_ , because France had seen fit to free hers from her trousers just as easily as her guests had shed their coats, the minute they had arrived. 

"Excuse me while I change, my darlings," she had said, waving Prussia and Austria into her beautiful living room, there to be distracted by the plush furnishings for a moment while she flitted to her room. "I am _so_ tired of business dress, there's such a dreadful _seam_ in these..." 

So they heard her call, her voice fading to vague mumbling. Austria had expected her to put something else on- an unnecessarily clingy dress, for example- and dismissed her. She was more concerned with the dècor, all mahogany and cream cushions, brilliant blue carpeting flecked with red, and books of the same rich hues lining impressive cases at the far wall. Even Prussia seemed to grudgingly respect the room's gravitas as he sprawled uninvited on a couch, a politeness not afforded to _Austria's_ Baroque drawing room, she would hasten to mention. They very nearly had an argument about interior design until France returned to attend to them, and of course everything else went out the window then, because she hadn't bothered to _replace_ her trousers in any reasonable manner. The hold-up _stockings_ , sheer black and wrapped around sensually long, sculpted legs, did _not_ count, and that shirt did _not_ function correctly as a dress, Austria felt compelled to explain. 

All embarrassed chastisement fell on deaf ears; laughing, France had grasped Austria's hand and taken Prussia's arm, and marched them both to dinner and drinks over all protest. The grousing never fully receded, but the good wine spoke for itself, and there was something soothing about the kitchen, even if it was straight out of Côté Maison. Dark-lit in bottle green and black marble, bedecked with plants and gleaming copper pans. The cool tiles underfoot had functioned as a convenient excuse- "I couldn't possibly cook barefoot, chérie." Austria had grudgingly slipped her shoes off and pressed her toes to the floor, skittish when they drew to close to Prussia's under the table; she couldn't shake the feeling that France could _tell_. But eventually, this sort of thing ceased to trouble her; they were bribed with cooking of the sort too indulgent for a cautious wallet, yet too hearty and homely to be easily got in the fine restaurants of Paris, and the failings of their hostess were, for a moment, forgiven. 

Because, with or without her trousers, she was a rather good hostess, wasn't she? And it belatedly came to Austria, perched by the window, that France must have planned for their visit, stuffing her refrigerator with lamb and aubergines and whatnot that might well have gone to waste, if they had insisted on the hotel. It was at once a kindness, and a... _deviousness_. 

Prussia found her sulking in the sitting room, as he extricated himself from the wiles of France's excellently curated liquor cabinet. Look, but don't drink, he'd decided. The viper had wandered away, perhaps to take her shirt off this time. 

"See the little fancy piano in the hall?" 

"Decorative. They sound like tin cans being struck with a spoon." 

"Ahh." 

"She doesn't even play. Properly." Austria shifted along the seat, displacing cushions, to let Prussia squeeze beside her. He was a pain to cart around, yet a comfort in foreign quarters. Like a favourite large handbag. _You feel lost on an unknown street, and you reach into your bag and find four lipsticks, a box of strong painkillers and a spare pair of tights, and you feel better._

He looped his arm awkwardly through hers, suddenly, and she squirmed around to allow it more comfortably. Her sleeves were short, and his rolled up by now, the touch of his warm forearm on her cooler skin a slow-burning shock. She felt a desire, out of nowhere, for him and for privacy, perhaps for sleep, she wasn't sure. Flying even short distances bothered her. Or perhaps it was something else. She gazed steadily at Prussia's shirt collar, tieless. 

"She wants us to spend the night..." Austria could hear him debating it. Passing the decision to her, as he tended to when he was in two minds. She wished for some reason that he would give her a resounding _no_ instead, or at least a _yes_ she could shut down. Why was she so...resistant? "In the guest room, she said, but it's a pigsty. I said clean it up, you wannabe Bohemian, no one wants to sleep in the stench of cheap wine you spilled on last night's dress- or whatever else you got on it!" 

"And?" 

"She tried to shove it all in the closet. I fuckin' hate that!" Prussia bit the nails of his spare hand absently, Austria watching him now that he looked away. He was full of habits she itched to curb. Pathological cleanliness, for one. "So I took some stuff from her and was gonna hang it or wash it or... _anyway_ she ran off, and I realised I was starting to do her laundry- fuck! Do you...want to go home?" 

It was abrupt, that and his sudden focus on her. She stared at his eyelashes, her pet feature of his. White and soft in the gloaming. She arched a black brow at him in reply. 

"Are you going to force me to sleep on a plane? We can hardly go _home_. Besides, I must see _Méduse_. I simply must. And visit my favourite pâtisserie in the 9th arrondissement." 

He groaned, reaching to squeeze her cheeks between thumb and forefinger, which she endured as stoically as a pufferfish. "Your favourite pastryarea is in the 9th arrondissement of Paris?" 

"Mhh- _no_ , it is my favourite pâtisserie _in_ the 9th arrondissement, there is another in the 4th, and the 12th and so on- " 

"Right, right, do you want to go back to the Cheapsville Hotel or not, Princess? They have poptarts, maybe." 

"They have _what_? Well- no, I suppose, but- ...if not that room, where on earth are we going to _sleep_?" 

A long glance was exchanged, and it ended in mutual ceiling-studying, abashed. No one seemed to want to suggest the sort of thing _France_ would suggest. Nor admit that she had been suggesting it for some time now. Austria was just about prepared to debate the merits of the couch cushions and a rug, rather than confront the real possibility before her. But the possibility arrived nonetheless, and confronted her. 

"Now," it intoned, as it slunk into the room, "what are you two little birds doing perched along there? Have I neglected you?! You must forgive me, my dear Autriche, I was ensuring that the boudoir was _clean_ enough for our lover boy's cultivated tastes- " 

"Oi, watch it, you lazy hag." 

" _Well_. Is this the sort of gentleman you like to have on your arm these days, darling? I don't think much of him." France seemed to prowl across the carpet in her silent stocking-feet, dropping easily into an armchair that she probably rarely sat in, though you'd never guess. It was not quite _decent_ of her, her shirt ever threatening to reveal the colour of her underwear between her elegantly crossed legs- if, in fact, it existed. "But I've got a whip somewhere if you forgot to bring your own." 

"That is considerate of you. Thank you, but no." 

"No?" France raised her eyebrows slightly, smiling. "What do you prefer? Paddle? Or do you do it by hand?" 

" _Hey_ -" Prussia began to interject, bristling at this gross invasion of his buttocks' privacy, but Austria pinched the underside of his arm, her face entirely unimpressed. 

"You know perfectly well that I do not like to 'talk shop', as they say." If she had really not wanted to pursue this indecent line of questioning, it would have been _very_ clear; as it was, for _Austria_ , this was almost humouring. "And incidentally, you also know that I prefer the cane. Call me old-fashioned. Now, Frankreich, answer me this- " 

\--Prussia wrested her wine glass from her, and made to take a sip-- 

" -are we on some sort of _checklist_ of yours, or are you _that_ incensed that we did not invite you during the Napoleon business?" 

\--and choked on it. 

France blinked- and grinned. It was a bit disconcerting after so many charming, restrained smiles. 

"Darling. Darling. I would never dream of putting you on a mere, a mere ordinary _list_. You are a VIP- " 

"I am referring to the both of us as a- " Austria looked sidelong at Prussia, furiously rubbing his nose to work out the sting of bubbles, his face beetroot. He unhelpfully tossed the rest of her spritzer back, with eyes that dared her to say 'couple'. "A- a- pair. A unit. At- at once. Don't try to tell me you haven't a separate category for that, you dreadful decadent- " 

"Well," France began, and the smile was charming again. "You think my, hm, dalliances far more organised than they really are, but that's to be expected of you, my love! Yours always were." Well, charming, yet serpentine. 

"Present company excepted, of course," she went on, to Austria's cold stare and Prussia's mugging. "I don't know _what_ prompted this one. But you've...maintained things beautifully for so long, I do get curious, you must forgive me- " 

"You cannot surmise from experience?" Austria jabbed Prussia in the chest now, not even looking at him, only indicating him like a prop; he wanted nothing less than to intervene in this sudden conversational catfight, but this was really over the line. "You have most certainly interfered with him once or twice, I know- " 

"Girls- " 

"Experience? With this one?" France laughed down at her beautiful carpet, shaking her head. "Endearing, but hardly able to explain the situation to me. _You_ , my voracious Viennese vixen, must have inspired something in him that I could not- or your tastes are truly beyond me, perish the thought." 

" _Frankreich_ , I'm warnin' you-!" 

"I hate to inform you of this, Frankreich, but my personal affairs and how they come about are not for you to speculate on- e-even _if_ they are- unusual...!" 

"Österreich?!" 

"Inexplicable, even! Ill-advised, some might say!" 

"Am I fuckin' invisible?!" 

"But regardless!" Austria pressed on, proving that Prussia was in fact _inaudible_ at the very least, and now she was thoroughly vexed; she stood up abruptly, her cheeks splotchy with frustration. "I believe I am entitled to pursue my own ends in this day and age, and not have them questioned by _you_ of all people- certainly not so late in the day, at any rate. If you were so desperately curious, you ought to have asked two, three hundred years ago! I know it may seem hard to understand, but some things _last_!" 

She was breathing harder than quite necessary by this point, but a hush fell on Prussia and France, and already, Austria regretted saying so much. She did not, as a rule, discuss the nature of her relationship with Prussia with anyone, and most nations, with their own _things_ going on, minded their business- but not France. It was rare that the three were alone in a room together, because this sort of thing happened. And if it was humiliating to be needled in just the right way about that most sensitive of subjects- her lovers- it was more humiliating still to take the bait and admit, even indirectly, that this one was constant, was important; that it hurt a little to have the relationship dismissed, but pained her more to have to overshare in defense of it. It's hard to keep a marriage of states secret, but falling into your arch-rival's arms on and off for centuries is usually a relatively private affair, for the sake of everyone's reputation. 

Perhaps that was the part that really stung her; that persistent view that Prussia was _beneath_ her, that it lowered her somehow to be with him, in some stupid outdated way that she could not shake the memory of. It was a guilty, unpleasant feeling, to imagine that judgement from her peers, and fear it enough to half-believe it. She would tell him, any day, that he was a worthless dog who did not deserve her, but that only became a problem when someone like France- shrewd and sharp beneath the gloss- treated them as something _quaint_ , something embarrassing. And yet in her clear-headed moments, Austria understood perfectly that France was close to Prussia, too, and would say the same in reverse at the drop of a hat- that there was something lacking in her...that Prussia, or the shadow of his glorious past that came out after a few too many beers, was making a fool of the desperate little rich girl. Using her. It wouldn't be the first time that ugly possibility arose. It wouldn't. 

In the stretching silence, Austria thought of all this, and wanted to leave the room. It was a bad mixture, lovers and enemies not in one person but in two, both loving the past far too much, and neither more than she did. She felt Prussia reach for her fingers, and that alone seemed far too intimate a gesture to show to France. This was the hardship of being too proud to admit to anything, but she supposed she could not blame anyone but herself. 

Except him, obviously. 

On the other hand, perhaps her insecurities painted France in too harsh a light, because it was she who came to the rescue of this embarrassing situation. 

"There, there," she said, quite kindly, in a tone one might use on someone both hysterical and armed, which was really overdoing it, Austria thought. She lifted herself out of her seat with a relaxed grace, swiped Austria's glass from Prussia's hand and wandered to a drinks cabinet. "Have a brandy. There we go- it's apricot, my sweet. Why don't you sit? I feel you've become pale, darling." 

"I am not suffering shellshock," Austria protested quietly, but she took the glass and drank. At 'pale', Prussia had risen, to catch her if she fainted, she assumed, and that was overdoing it as well. "I only meant to say- we are quite- that is- " 

She was digging her nails into Prussia's hand, and he promptly took the hint. "It's none of your damn business, Frankreich, but whatever we _do_ , we've been doing for long enough to know how, we don't need the fuckin' Love Doctor treatment. And nobody knows better about us than you, you lying, spying demimondaine, you. Who was it who spammed me with texts asking questions weeks back when I said I was in Vienna, hah?! And before that fucking letters, telegrams. You've been at this for years- we are on some fucking list, aren't we?" 

" _You_ wouldn't be on any list if it weren't for your fine company," France snapped, though this was a lie. "But very well, I admit, I may have been a touch dishonest. I'm, well, interested in your wellbeing, of course, both of you, and the _best_ way I know to treat you to a lovely weekend in my lovely home is to personally- personally- attend to it. You understand. Now you'll forgive me my methods, if they were wrong, won't you, my dear? Don't crowd her so, Prusse. Go away." 

She waved Prussia back, in order to crowd Austria herself, slipping an arm around her waist and trying very hard to be sweet; Austria looked up from where she had glumly been staring into her brandy. "I beg your pardon?" 

"She still wants to get us into bed, she just didn't think it would be this hard- _ow_ , get the hell off-!" 

"Be quiet, you silly boy. Now, darling." France lowered her voice almost to a whisper, moving close to Austria's ear; in her faintly vulnerable state, it felt like a static shock, triggering memories of just why she ever allowed France to be near her. "I am sorry for upsetting you. But I feel a little bit slighted...! Oh, it's not your fault, my little éclair- " 

"Must you persist with these pet names?" 

" -but there was a time, you know, when you shared things more readily with me..." She paused meaningfully, her face too close by far, her free hand finding its way clear to plucking at the waistband of Austria's skirt. Prussia made a face down at her over Austria's head, and a suspicious quiet fell. 

"...Are you referring to the aftermath of my anniversary party in 1882- " 

"Not that," France cut in swiftly, with a smile. "What I mean to say is that we used to be so _close_ \- sometimes merely a pistol's length away from each other, indeed- it is unthinkable that you would keep your cards so close to your chest on this matter." 

She emphasised her point by tracing a finger up the front of Austria's blouse; everyone's eyes followed it. "I have always felt left out! That is the truth. I have nothing but goodwill towards your, your arrangement. But how can I celebrate this triumph of Venus over Mars if I am not, hm, included? I mean, conversationally." 

Her red lips thinned in a wide smile again. 

"But also, yes, that was a wonderful party...dear Hongrie...a strapping fellow... _ah_ \- but it's gauche to talk of such things in front of another gentleman!" 

She had noticed Prussia gritting his teeth. He had probably not been on the guest list at that one. 

"What you mean to say, Frankreich," Austria began, slowly, her eyes following France's finger as it circled the button above her breasts, "is that you are, in fact, harbouring bitterness about not being invited during the Napoleon business." 

The button gave with a _pop_ that no one heard, but Austria felt, not least because her blouse gave with it. 

"Nonsense," France replied, making smiling eye contact with Prussia, as she painstakingly undid Austria's buttons up to her collar, smoothing the garment out to expose the deceptively modest swell of her breasts; they rose and fell on a careful beat, in common time. "I did not entirely want to bed you after you finished me off, believe it or not." 

\- 

Not entirely, but partly, at least. 

France's bedroom was dark and sophisticated in abyssal blue-greens, and shining cherry wood; the bed was a huge centrepiece that nonetheless faded into the shadowy tones of the room, allowing warm sconce lights to act as the only highlights- excepting the streetlamps and early stars. Austria would have taken some time to inspect the furnishings and scoff at the pretentious modernity of it all, if she were not pressed against the window seat, her skirt voluminous around her waist and her legs parted to make way for France's intruding form. The other woman was using her red-smudged mouth in a way that made Austria nervous for her silk blouse, though it seemed France could read her mind, because she very thoughtfully pushed it far from harm's way off Austria's shoulders. It was coincidence that this made it easier for her to smear her lipstick down Austria's neck, reverently kissing her collar bone before delving between her breasts, leaving scarlet letters over the pale, soft flesh. Her nimble fingers were already searching for the fastenings of the ivory lace underthing in her path, before she realised exactly what it was. 

"You've got a spectacular eye for lingerie. And body for it, may I say." France pulled back a bit to admire the full slip that delicately confined Austria's bust, disappeared under her skirt and reappeared as a flash of white hem at her hips. It was genuine admiration, Austria could tell, and that was always the incorrigible thing about France- she had _taste_ , and it made it hard to hate her. 

Austria snorted, even so. "Thank you. If you get so much as a smudge on it, I shall call this whole- foolish endeavour off immediately." 

She had not yet, in so many words, actually _agreed_ to the activity they were about to engage in. She'd allowed France to seduce her thus far, her misgivings still evident on her face, though they flickered at the point France kissed her and ran practiced fingers up the back of her thighs. But there was still one problem that weighed on her, and he was currently in the bathroom, where France had surreptitiously sent him. Austria hadn't commented, but she knew why; France wanted time to win her over, without his presence to bring her torn loyalties to the forefront of her mind. 

It wasn't really working. In fact, it made her wonder if she was being set up; if this was some shared plan between France and Prussia, some strategic trap, and he was waiting it out until she fell into it. Unlikely, and yet...it wouldn't be the first backstabbing she'd endured from their ilk. 

"Darling, you're staring at the bathroom door. Do you need something?" France took Austria's chin gently between her fingers, pulling her back to her senses. The well-manicured nails dragged down her jaw to her neck, creeping to her hair, to pluck at what held it in place, and she shivered at the sensation. 

"...You needn't have sent him away. That was juvenile." She closed her eyes, frowning and tilting her head as she felt her hair come loose, spilling bit by bit down her back. 

France dropped hairpins one by one into a decorative ashtray, silent for a moment. "You were a bundle of nerves, my dear. I thought some...women-only time..." 

"Oh, don't be a fool. _He_ does not make me nervous." Austria scowled up at France's gently smiling countenance; the other woman obliged her by leaning down and pressing her forehead to Austria's, her hands coming to rest lightly on her ribs. 

"Very well, I admit, I thought he was tugging on your conscience. You shouldn't bother with all this prudishness and guilt, you know, because _he_ doesn't. I assure you." 

"Are you telling me he intended for this- _outcome_?" 

"Mm?" France's fingers paused where they had been massaging Austria's breasts, and incidentally testing the quality of their lace coverings. "I doubt it. Dear me, don't look so distraught. Come here." 

She pressed her lips once to Austria's forehead, and then to her pouting mouth; Austria returned the kiss only grudgingly, at length. She was being played like a fiddle, she felt, and the rather rustic instrument in that simile was the least insult here. France was cunning, and selfish- more cunning than Prussia and more selfish than Austria, and that was disconcerting. But it was effective. 

Enough to quell her protests as France's hands reached up under her skirt to pull at her tights, grasping for her underwear with less dainty finger work than before, and more desire. At least her attraction was true, Austria thought, even if all her words were in doubt. She let her own hands clutch at France's back, her hips shifting up from the window seat to allow the explorations, her lips and tongue yielding even as she half thought to bite down in petty irritation. 

Her tights and panties were halfway to her knees by the time France let her breathe, ravenous teeth at her throat, fingertips caressing her buttocks and thighs but not venturing between them; displays of passion aside, France was always meticulous, always patient. She searched again for the fastenings of Austria's slip, loosening it until the straps lost their tautness; the unsettled lace let a rose-pink nipple slip from its confines, only to be captured by pinching fingers, suckling lips. 

Austria covered her mouth, her head jerking back. She narrowly avoided hitting the window pane, one hand anchoring her to France by clutching her shirt at the shoulder, only the other woman's weight and her own frantic tensing of all her muscles keeping her on the edge of the sill. It was less than ideal. 

"Frankreich- " 

" _Autriche_ \- " 

"I _must_ protest your- unsporting conduct-!" she groaned, the slippery fabric covering her legs preventing her from getting a good grasp of anything; she slid worryingly further down from her perch. "And your terrible _venue_!" 

"I'll take you anywhere you please, my flighty little dove, just let me have you- " -France broke off to tug Austria's slip down her chest, completely baring her breasts, the better to suck hard enough to leave blossoming colour- " - _most_ preferably in the presence of our absent lover boy- I'm simply dying to see how he fucks you, darling- " 

\- 

Prussia was a man of reasonably sharp hearing but wandering attention, and France hadn't skimped on the mirrors in her bathroom; it was a clever gambit, nudging him to undress and prepare himself in the serenity and relative safety of a place where he could admire his reflection from a variety of angles. It kept him lingering there even as the voices from the next room began to rise in pitch and volume, a bundle of nervous energy, torn between anxiety at the thought of dealing with two women known for their _worldliness_ and class, and hubris at the sight of his own rippling abdominals. 

Even he wasn't fool enough to wander in with his cock on display, but he had stripped to his grey boxers, nosing in France's cabinets in between athletic stretches. She was not a mystery to him, as Austria had once been in her elegant modesty and stoicism; no, she was far too _open_ for that. She was just a challenge. Possibly an insurmountable one. Prussia was rather counting on Austria as a mediator- hell, he would almost be content to sit and watch. He had an inkling that that might be the preferred course of action from Austria's point of view, although in truth, he was struggling to read her. She had protested, and yet she'd come to the bedroom, and God knew what France was talking her into. Something about her demeanour had seemed almost betrayed, though by whom, he couldn't tell. _He_ certainly hadn't planned on this happening- he viewed it as an occupational hazard. One which, admittedly, he wasn't resisting. Maybe that was the problem. 

It hit him, belatedly, that perhaps Austria needed a mediator as much as he did. He had assumed that, in all her experience with the woman, France wouldn't faze her, and perhaps she would not- if he were not there. He couldn't explain every facet of Austria's self-consciousness, but he knew her to be, in a strange way, a _monogamous_ sort of creature. She had been with two lovers before, Prussia could verify- memories of calling a truce and sharing her with Hungary, in an alcoholic haze on friendly nights, stayed with him like few other experiences. And he suspected she had tried it with others. But it wasn't often, it was a few scattered nights over many decades, a handful of gambles on the trust she had in her partners- not to embarrass her, and not to kill each other, for starters. She had many important relationships, and she didn't like to cross her wires, complicate things. It was an immense act of faith, then, to let her lovers share her, wasn't it? 

_Share_ her...what was the connecting factor there? She never liked to be ignored, or made to feel like anything less than the most important person in the room. A trait he was fond of, as much as it was the core of everything he'd occasionally hated about her. In bed, indulging this trait was not optional, he knew that well- so he really shouldn't abandon her to just watch this session, or play with France by himself. 

Or, indeed, hide in the bathroom like a coward. 

His epiphany distracted him completely from his own nerves or the thought of what he might find if he stepped back into the bedroom, and he chose that exact moment to burst through the door, almost entirely naked but with renewed purpose and an apology of sorts forming in his head. 

"I'm back and ready to rock, did you miss- " 

"I'm simply dying to see how he fucks you, darling!" 

It took a great deal of self-control not to do an abrupt about-face. 

"Don't be _vulgar_ ," Austria was panting, and it took a moment for her to register that Prussia had finally returned; in that moment, she was lovely to behold, shocking in her disarray. Her clothes more off than on, but still hanging by a thread in some desperate pretense at modesty, and her pose speaking volumes about her inner conflicts, halfway between wanton and coy, almost languid against the window sill. Under, it had to be noted, the weight of a much more predatory form, tall and lithe, making the awkward position look as natural as the cover of a cheap and lurid novel. France's shirt rode far up her legs as she grinned against Austria's vulnerable flesh, the red streaks around mouth and breasts alike bringing vampires to mind. 

Prussia had put Austria in this state more times than he could count, and he wondered for a stupid second what made this different, until the tightness in his underwear put it all together. 

"Uh." 

" _Ah_ \- " It clicked for Austria at that moment too, and in an instant of surprise, she pushed France from her entirely, her eyes headlight-wide. "Wh-where have you b- why do you look so _prepared_?!" 

It seemed hypocritical to him, her scandalised gaze down his body, when she was so perfectly displayed, but then he supposed she hadn't done it to herself. He glanced down at himself- alright, so the erection was new but he looked as good as he had in the bathroom, and in his opinion, his dark boxers gave the whole thing a subtle eroticism that only heightened his appeal, _so_ \- he spread his arms questioningly, flexing just a tad. 

"Someone has to be- oi, what are you even doing?" 

France picked herself up off the highly-polished floor, plucking absently at the slippery stockings that had been her undoing. "We were attempting to engage in wild, careless lovemaking as only two of the fairer sex can, but you came back, so I suppose that's off. Did you have to push me? I enjoy your little bursts of violence, Autriche, but allow me to think of a safeword first." 

"Do shut up." Austria was prying herself from the window seat, looking abashed as she felt her tights hobbling her; she left her blouse behind her, but made efforts to pull her slip into place, let her skirt fall to cover it all up. Prussia strolled to her side, fidgeting with his hands, feeling an urge to help (by undressing her all the way), but he held back, uncertain. She steadied herself on his arm as she tried to subtly fix her underwear. 

"And what are you doing?" France asked, throwing herself down on her bed. She leaned back on her hands, her body sinking slightly in the sea of dark sheets, long legs parted- Prussia stared for a moment at the hint of light hair between them, under the canopy of white shirt, before tearing himself away. "You aren't supposed to put your clothes back _on_ , silly lamb." 

"...She's right, y'know- " Prussia began, watching in puzzlement as Austria attempted just that, completely ineffectually; she gave him a withering look, and extended it all the way to France. 

"Oh, yes, I suppose you both want me to just strip naked for your amusement and then, I don't know- forget myself completely and contort myself however you desire and let you do all sorts of depraved things," she said, as if she had never in her life stepped outside the bounds of marital missionary in the dark, and indeed had never wandered out of her house without underwear or had any number of other eccentric nudist mishaps. Prussia had to bite down hard on a spluttering laugh. 

" _Well_ , I shan't," she continued, with a nasty look in his direction, and she hopped away from him to prop herself against the wall instead, turning her back on her companions. "Not at your command. I won't suffer the indignity. You two can just amuse yourselves however you see fit, but I won't encourage it. Hmph." 

Prussia exchanged a look with France, a rueful grin turning the corners of his mouth; he shook his head when she made to get up and rush to Austria's side, no doubt to plead with her. Austria would get into these little fits with him, when he did something to offend her, and she'd never grown out of them. Long ago he would whine, wheedle, argue and throw his own tantrums; as he grew a little older, he spent the time attempting to understand what he'd done and appease her somehow (a real gamble, considering he still wasn't very patient). At this point he preferred to tease her. 

"Are you sure, Princess? You just want to _watch_?" 

She cast an outraged look over her shoulder, pausing in her fiddling with her slip. "Certainly not! I want no part of it!" 

"Ah?" Prussia strolled over to the bed, eyes on Austria's back; through the scattered ropes of her long hair, he could see the delicate skin of her back where her slip was open, and the way her skirt captured her waist, slender but soft with a little persistent pudge. He wanted nothing much more than to explore beneath those disordered clothes, but he let her be, sitting near France instead. "Then what're you gonna do, go read in the living room?" 

Even _France_ gave him a reproachful, but amused look for that one. Austria jolted, not looking back. 

"I- I..." She sounded helplessly caught off guard, and there it was again- _betrayed._ Prussia wasn't the quickest to catch on when it came to subtle emotions, but he'd heard that note in her voice enough to know he was pushing it. Another uncomfortable, nagging realisation came to him, about the nature of her upset now and earlier, about this entire ill-conceived French adventure. 

"Hey- I'm just ki- " 

"Well, Autriche? If you want to sit it out- much as it pains me to let you go!- I'm sure I could look after this one in your absence." 

Prussia's head whipped round, but before he could do anything about it, France had clambered on him, one knee landing dangerously in the space between his legs with a force he thought was rather deliberate. He caught her by the hips out of necessity, cursing under his breath at the suddenness, and about to curse _at_ her, but she shushed him. 

Austria seemed frozen in place, not looking behind her. Prussia wondered if she was furious or flabbergasted. 

"...If you must!" she managed eventually. "If that is what you came here to do, Preußen, then please yourself!" 

"I never came here for nothin'!" he exploded, feeling a little desperate suddenly, the situation teetering dangerously out of his grasp. "This isn't my fault! Right?! Frankreich?! Take some fuckin' responsibility!" _Please!_

She laughed in wicked tones, her arms around his neck, her breasts threatening his airways. "I've already made my intentions as clear as day, but if Mademoiselle is unhappy with proceedings, I must not force her to stay another minute. _You_ , on the other hand, you little slut- you took all your clothes off quite by yourself and I can feel your intentions poking my buttocks right this moment- " 

"What'd you call me?!" The agony of the situation was almost forgotten in the midst of his incredulous offense, and he took some pleasure in pinching her viciously under her bare backside, squirming as she drew attention to his need; it only seemed to egg her on, her fingers pulling his hair hard and her eyes flashing with a spiteful humour. "How fuckin' dare you, you shameless wench- what's this, hah?! Feels like desperation to me- airin' everything out all night, hoping someone'd fuck you!" 

"Oh, you finally noticed!" She was too close, her teeth sharply white against the smeared scarlet of her lips, her eyes darting to his mouth as though she wanted to devour him- he had no doubt that she did, and would, if he only bridged the gap, and let her- 

" _Really_!" The sudden shout cut across the room; instantly, Prussia clapped his hand over France's mouth, a jolt in his stomach rocking him with a wild fear of retribution for some crime he felt he hadn't quite committed yet. It hit him that his position was deeply compromising, and he looked to Austria with a wince. She did not look pleased. 

"Do you take some pleasure in this sort of antagonism?!" she snapped, her hands fists at her sides; she was bright red, and it would have been easier to endure her anger had her slip not continued a slow descent down her shoulders from where she'd put it right, exposing her subtly and exquisitely. There was something in her beauty that Prussia was hard pressed to find anywhere else in the twenty-first century, the stuff of paintings and marble, gently titillating and masterfully crafted. But real, vitally real. 

He had no answer for her, letting France go and raising his hands as if Austria held a gun. 

"Sh-she started- " 

"Shut up!" She marched in front of them now, confronting his frozen countenance and France's lofty grin. The bitch knew she was pressing all the right buttons, and Prussia had to admire the barefaced audacity. This was how she always won at card games. He owed her something like 72 francs, plus two hundred years of interest. 

"I promise you, Autriche, I won't damage him, he'll come back to you better than he left- " 

"I certainly did not ask you to speak," Austria said coldly, eyebrows raised. This was the turning point. This was where Austria would take the throne, but France would win the war. "Do you think I will allow you to carry on in this way while I sit aside like some miserable wife? Do you think I will tolerate this... _calculated_ infidelity?" 

And the only casualty would be Prussia. 

France mouthed the word 'infidelity' like an old aunt who has just heard good news and become sentimental about it, but Austria ignored her. 

"If you will do this- as if you had not worn out the novelty of _group sexual activities_ many times over- and if you _must_ meddle in my affairs, then it is only proper that I oversee it," Austria declared, drawing herself up regally, her lipstick-smeared breasts prominent and jostling just a bit; Prussia felt his cock twitch urgently. "God knows, you are both in dire need of a touch of class." 

\- 

That was how she came to leave her skirt on the floor behind her and tiptoe- humbled a bit in the wake of her own sharp words, which were really nothing more than an elaborate concession- to join them on the bed. The elastic was really cutting into her thighs now- France had managed to tangle the waistband of her tights up with her panties, the idiot. 

"There, there," France crooned, as she rolled the lot down towards her knees, inspecting the red marks left behind; she soothed them with her thumbs, then her tongue. She was on the floor, now- _an improvement_ , Austria thought, as she shifted and settled. She was trying not to be too stiff, nor fuss with her slip. 

It was difficult to say whether or not Prussia was helping in that respect. His presence, as a witness to France on her knees before her, nipping and sucking at the soft underside of her thighs, was a _touch_ awkward; on the other hand, it was a comfort. He held her in his lap, between his spread legs. One arm circled her waist, a thumb gently brushing the skin of her breast in an absentminded way; with his other hand he supported her knee, holding her leg up with little effort. He was watching France kiss her way between Austria's legs, teasingly, her own hands coming to support her under the knees, to give herself access without needing to free Austria from her hose. That was a bit unsporting. 

And embarrassing, too, as her lifted legs exposed her in a way that felt entirely different, out of her control; she felt almost _coddled_ , and utterly tricked. She had seen it coming, and it still happened. 

She closed her eyes, laying her head in the crook of Prussia's neck, her hands on his forearms. "You had better not have...plotted my downfall- _ahh_..." 

It caught her by surprise, but France pressed her mouth to her quietly and without preamble, no more taunting or teasing; perhaps it was an apology or means of convincing her, or France's desires had simply got the better of her- it didn't matter. Her tongue stroked deftly between sensitive lips, delving deep to catch Austria's wet opening, tease her until she relaxed. It was expert, as it always was, and wildly unsatisfying with her legs hobbled together like this, at France's mercy. Prussia, the traitor, held them further aloft, shifting until she felt his cock rub against her lower back. At least he was suffering with her. 

"I didn't," he said gruffly; she felt him kiss her eyelid, one strong arm encircling her knees enough to hold her, and let him grope her at the same time, fingers plucking her nipples until they were aching and stiff. France was ignoring her clit, inflamed now with unquenched need, and she squirmed insistently against the steady, firm lapping, her hands restless on Prussia's arms, her nails scratching gently. 

"Don't torment me, you- tsk, conspirators," she ground out, twisting in Prussia's grasp, her feet kicking; he tilted her chin up to catch her mouth, grabbing her ankle at the same time- France's hands on the backs of her thighs kept her in place, that sly mouth stubborn in the way it kissed her, wetly and deeply, but dancing shy of really stimulating her. Too shallow, the tip of France's tongue only grazing her clitoris, making her complain against Prussia's mouth, _his_ tongue silencing her. 

When he let her gasp for air, she reached up to grab him by the hair, her back arcing away from him, forcing her hips against France's mouth; she risked falling from the bed without their firm hold. 

" _Enough_ , you horrible creature- _please_ ," she implored, straining against her impromptu bindings. 

Almost instantly, France obeyed- by popping up into view around her legs, expression bright; she swept her tongue over her lower lip, and Austria sagged against Prussia. Of course. 

"If you insist, darling girl," was the singsong response, and Austria would have kicked her, if she'd been in any position to. She settled for giving her a look to kill as the other woman clambered up on the bed, careless about the shirt riding up to her waist, exposing modest, toned buttocks to top off the columns of her legs. A touch of self-consciousness made Austria press her own plump thighs together, but her companions were having none of it. 

"Well, you brute? Free her from those awful things, hurry up," France said, her smile and casual tone belying the accusatory words she aimed at Prussia, lying on her belly with her legs swaying behind her. She laid herself close to Austria, and she was watching her intently, ignoring the sour face Prussia made. He complied, though, more hurriedly than Austria was expecting, her attention sharply drawn from France as he yanked her tights off, and she slid off him down to the bed with her legs in the air. 

"Ah- " 

"Whoops- sorry- oi, I don't remember trapping her in these, that was your idea, _brute_ ," he said, extricating Austria's feet more carefully and lowering them gently, tossing the remainder of her underwear aside; she winced for her silk hosiery, smoothing her slip down instead, her posture delicate and proper, in defiance of her situation. Between two wolves- well, they thought they were wolves- one languid, and the other kneeling above her, eyeing her intently; she gave him and his straining erection a disapproving look. 

"Sit," she said, putting a hand on the latter, and _pressing_. He did, folding easily with his legs spread, overeager and willing to do just about anything he was told- as if this was his moment. But she obliged him, a little, with careful fingers shifting too easily over silk and skin, creeping for his boxers' waistband. Her eyes flickered from that all too familiar bulge, firm under her hand, up Gilbert's body, to his flushed face, his focused but glassy gaze, and just as if they were alone together, she felt the urge to play with him. To pleasure him; though in theory, the idea was entirely against her highly selfish principles, in the _moment_ , with him nude and aching before her, it would suddenly become very appetising indeed. And it was in this moment- she licked her lips, shifting up towards him thoughtlessly, her fingers tugging the fabric away to expose him to her eyes and her waiting mouth, but- they weren't _alone_ , they were just _together_. Far more together than usual. 

France made sure Austria couldn't forget it, catching her attention by flipping her slip up to her waist, leaving her bare and pale, her legs pushed apart by long-fingered hands, red nails drawing snaking lines down her thighs. She glanced at herself, her face heating slightly at the starkness of the dark hair between her legs, comparing it for a senseless moment with France's neat blonde bush- and then she glanced at France, as if to make a visual comparison, and found an almost thoughtful look on the other woman's face. She was sitting up on her knees, moving between Austria's legs and looking down at her body, gazing over every soft curve. 

" _Charmant_ ," she said, and it was almost a sigh; her hand trailed up Austria's thigh, up the intimate meeting point of her lower lips and beyond, a wet trail of her own arousal left along her exposed belly, until France could uncover and fondle her breasts, too. It made Austria shudder, her back arching- not the touch, the admiration. It embarrassed her, a little, after all this time, but it still felt wonderful. France never lost her touch. 

It caught Prussia's attention, too- he hadn't moved under Austria's stilted caress, except to breathe heavily, his eyes transfixed on her naked form, on the way France moved over it. Austria watched him, her head tilted back to see how his expression changed above her, how his throat moved. It was...arousing. His attention- and France's- it was a feeling she suspected she'd felt before, on some drunken evening...or a few...well, more than that, and not always so drunken, but it wasn't _the done thing_ to dwell on those indiscretions. It retained its novelty, to say the least. 

She spread her legs, experimentally, and on cue, France dipped her head to kiss her, her tongue almost casually playing with her clit, the motions far too experienced for civilised society. Austria felt Prussia hold his breath, one of his hands unthinkingly coming to thread into her hair; it was becoming unbearable, the stillness, the lack of urgency, no one _fucking_ anyone- if they were going to put her into this position, they ought to get on and ravish her, surely- 

"Don't mind me," France said suddenly, amused, as if she anticipated the way her companions would startle at the sound. She was bracing herself on her hands and knees over her hapless prey, one of Austria's legs over her shoulder and in prime position to be kissed, just where her thigh met her knee. France did so, then nodded her head towards Prussia, or his cock, possibly. "Have at it, darling." 

"R...Really," Austria began, flustering again, though she had nothing to follow it up with, so she stopped. It wasn't worth belabouring the point, or playing coy; she'd been eager a moment ago, and Prussia... He was looking at her face again, first with shyness as he collected himself, then with a cheeky grin as his hips shifted, his cock nudging her hand. He pushed his boxers down a little more himself, then he reached to tilt her chin up affectionately, before letting his hand spider down to toy with her nipples. He didn't say anything- perhaps he wasn't quite in command of his faculties after all- but he said enough, and even with France doing unspeakable things down below, Austria felt quite comfortable after all when she grasped his cock firmly and urged him closer with a gentle tug, shifting to her side to let him feel her tongue. 

On this, she could concentrate. She closed her eyes; it didn't lessen the feeling of being lapped at, warm and wet, slow and steady, but it let her retreat to a world of her own. Just heartbeats, heavy breathing, an abstract, constant pleasure at her core, and Prussia's cock in her mouth, his hands grounding her as they caressed her. She sucked him gently, unhurried, her hand as measured as France's mouth along his shaft, but her tongue exploring, meandering. Mimicking, perhaps, what she was experiencing, before remembering she was working with different equipment, and stretching to take him a little deeper, trying to be rhythmic. He needed no encouragement, she felt him move on the mattress, letting his hips be a little more mobile, pressing himself into her mouth needily. With her eyes closed, there was something overtly erotic about it, and she could have sworn it was that as much as France's admirable technique that saw her open legs begin to stretch and spread in earnest, her hips pushing for more. 

France did not exactly oblige; she kept to her own pace. It was astonishing, really, how untiring she was, how precise- even if she did say so herself- but then, she was practically a professional. And more to the point, she was enjoying herself. Austria, laid out pliant and unguarded before her, _so_ pliant and _so_ unguarded that she was willing to take her most embarrassing lover (or was he?) in her perfect little prudish _mouth_ , right there for France's viewing pleasure- and she was watching, and she was _pleased._ She was the sort of person who could make foreplay the main event, dragging it out for hours. It was nothing to her to maintain her tireless vigil between Austria's pretty legs- God, even her pussy seemed, well, _aristocratic_ \- enjoying taste, texture, everything, and that _view_. Denying herself anything at all- for now- letting the atmosphere alone get her wet, because she had more important things on her mind than physical stimulation. Intellectual pleasures, if you will. The sheer joy, really, of sex- between other people. Something she'd seen, perhaps literally, a million times before, but each instance was different, exciting and very _telling_. And _this_ couple had to be the crown jewels of the collection. Oh, she'd heard enticing stories about them fucking- she'd heard them fucking, come to think of it, and she'd always wanted to burst into the room and invite herself along. She knew them separately, but Austria had been quite right- she wanted to know them together, and now, she would. 

The way, for instance, that Austria had obviously developed a great deal of trust for someone she used to be loath to ever turn her back on- the way she let him thrust into her mouth and hold her hair, actions France herself would expect to get slapped for, let alone a man. The gentleness with which Prussia conducted himself, although he wasn't stiff at all- except for the obvious part- he was relaxed, confident. Which was incredible for him, thinking back to his younger...mishaps. Oh, he wasn't _all_ bad, back then, just a flustered, cocky, fumbling, shouting mess, at times. Times like when he was attempting to have sex with a woman. At least his body was acceptable. And it was still acceptable, very much so, his biceps full and firm as he braced himself, his abdominals tightening with his increasingly harsh breathing. His face looked blissful, but calm, and- France had to admit it was touching, if disgusting- somewhat adoring, when he was watching Austria. She'd been good for him, it was obvious to see. Even if France thought her completely unhinged for taking on such a project and sticking with it all these years- and that was just for his social skills, never mind the constant political antagonism and military shenanigans. But she loved the ludicrousness of it, all the same. 

Austria seemed to need to breathe, and France watched her finally open her eyes and share some sort of starry look with Lover Boy, before dipping her head (and shaking it slightly), pressing her lips to Austria and giving her clit a thorough tongue-lashing; it had the desired effect, Austria's legs drawing up, and a soft groan escaping her. Through one sly eye, France watched her attempt to suck Prussia's cock, and attempt was the word; her tongue fluttered against him, a distracted hand working him while her lips couldn't seem to decide between fellatio and mumbling to herself. France knew exactly what Austria was like, when she was being pleasured in earnest: useless. 

And she would use that little fact to kill two lovebirds with one stone. A helpless, orgasmic Austria always made for some simply killer denial material- whimpering, pleading, writhing, the whole thing- but now, gleefully, France could deny Prussia just as easily, without even having touched him yet. And perhaps the best part was that when she glanced up, eyes wide and innocent, tongue buried in Austria, and gazed at him trying to guide Austria's unsteady attentions to where he needed them- his blushing scowl told her that he _knew._

Indeed, he knew enough to give up and let Austria focus entirely on her own pleasure, which he did- gently disengaging from her, which she hardly seemed to register, let alone protest, and sinking down to lounge on the bed and watch proceedings for a while. It wouldn't hurt him...much, to press pause, and his motive was perhaps purer than France imagined; it wasn't just that Austria was fairly unhelpful to him now, but because he wanted her to enjoy herself, unpressured. France would have made some derisive remark if he'd said so- he could see it in her eyes now, as she shot him supremely unsporting looks from between Austria's legs- but it was true. It didn't even shock him anymore, the recognition of his own maturity and growth as a man, and as Austria's boyf...part...lover. Something. It was almost shocking in itself that he could contemplate it so calmly these days, like he'd reached some kind of self-actualisation, or some other bullshit psychology thing Austria would give him an armchair analysis on. 

But he still wasn't _so_ worldly as to be the type of man to watch two outrageously attractive women having sex without feeling somewhat...flummoxed by it. He could admit that much. His face admitted it for him, probably, hot and sweaty, and his hands, hovering almost protectively around his throbbing erection, not quite daring to actually _jack off_ to the scene...something about that idea made him want to run to confession. No, he would just wait politely for one of the ladies to give him some assistance. In their own time. 

Which they were putting to good use. 

"Ah- forgive me, my sweet," France was laughing, coming up for air and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, succeeding only in smearing her bright lipstick further over her face. "I tire- believe it or not- I must let my jaw rest if I'm to give a good performance...later," she said, and she looked very deliberately at Prussia, who nearly flinched. Austria was a rare and sweet experience, but France was expert mode, the kind of head that made him lose all composure, and he wasn't sure he wanted Austria to be a witness to that. But she didn't seem to catch the reference, panting up at France, unsatisfied. 

"Y-Your h- _hands_ would be acceptable- " 

"Ah, ah, fear not." France winked, pulling herself up to her knees. She was never one to hesitate, alarmingly confident in bed, and she did reach down to rub and stroke Austria's folds, leaning over to kiss her soundly while she did so- Prussia's tongue wet his lips and his fingers grasped his cock as he watched- but that was only a brief aside. Her real intentions became clear when she suddenly tipped Austria on her side, drawing a soft "Oh..." of surprise from the other woman that made her smile, but not stop. 

"Pay attention, Prusse, this is how one is supposed to move one's hips, whatever you might have dangling around down there." 

"Tch- bite me!" 

"In time," she said, as she straddled one of Austria's thighs, holding the other up and sliding about until she could press herself flush against the other woman, her shirt riding up to reveal the sight. Her fingers coming to gently spread her lips, and Austria's, simply toying with sensations, her hips shifting experimentally. She had obviously done this before, but Prussia could not remember ever _seeing_ it before (in person)- perhaps once or twice while drunk out of his mind in a bordello?- even if he had, it had never been so pleasing to look at as this, anyway. He bit his lip nervously, nibbling at a little dry skin- Austria would scold him for it later, perhaps give him chapstick mouth-to-mouth. 

She wasn't paying attention to him now, which was understandable. She was watching France with equal parts curiosity and expectation. It didn't seem to be new to her, either- it occurred to Prussia that perhaps they did this often...and, while he had _no_ concerns about his ability to satisfy her, he did suddenly sit up straighter, ready to pay close attention. His eyes locked on that tangle of legs as France began to rock in place, almost bouncing up and down, grasping Austria tightly to keep her pressed close. Prussia could see soft, pink lips growing redder, demurely hidden by hair until movement revealed them to be glistening with spreading slickness- it was wildly inviting, and he found himself crawling closer to watch, his eyes roving Austria's body, her shaking breasts, her arm thrown over her eyes as she moaned her approval. Her knuckles were white as her fingers fisted in the bedsheets, and when he noticed, he took her hand himself, gratified to feel her cling. It might have been tawdry, this...performance- especially when thinking of some of the _other_ shows France had given him in her time- but Austria really did seem to elevate a situation to a thing of beauty, and even France had a _way_ with other women. At the moment, the two women before him were, probably, among the most elegant things he had ever seen, and he could have watched for hours. 

It was a shame, then that he was beginning to throb painfully in his own hand, his restraint cracking enough to see him stroke himself furtively, aching to relieve some tension. He wouldn't interrupt, but France caught him, leaning low over Austria with a slow roll of her hips to give him a once-over. 

"Tsk, manners," she said, in an unnerving imitation of the woman beneath her- with less panting, perhaps- so good it drew Austria's attention, and she craned her neck back to join in the viewing party. Prussia shrank back, flushing, but he stuck out his jaw defiantly, shoving his boxers down and off in an athletic whirl of legs. 

"Don't talk to me about manners, selfish," he groused, jabbing a finger in Austria's direction, as if to suggest she was a commodity France was failing to share; she raised an eyebrow, France's slowing movements giving her room to breathe. She felt like she was burning up, the rising pressure never breaking, no closer to orgasm now than before, only more and more aroused. Something had to give. She reached up to grab France by the waist, clutching at her shirt. 

"Ignore him," she said, arching her back, her hips straining for contact that was growing increasingly flighty. Above her, France smiled, benign and indulgent, and Austria felt herself blush; she really was charming. Enough to make Austria reach up and gently tug her golden hair loose from its ponytail, her fingers trailing down France's cheek to her jaw, urging her down for a kiss. But as France willingly gave her her lips, she took her other set _away_ , untangling her legs from Austria's with an apologetic squeeze to her backside. 

"Wait- _tsk_ , Frankreich- " 

"Darling, he's quite right, we have been...thoughtless. How could we expect the poor boy to sit and watch _us_ without practically exploding? Look at him, he resembles a tea kettle, does he not?" She left Austria where she lay, crawling towards a wary Prussia and running her hands down his chest and abdomen, quite without hesitation. "It's your fault, you know, not finishing what you started, and then bouncing away there without a thought for this unfortunate little thing." 

She flicked the head of the _little thing_ in question, before her fingers expertly circled it and began to jerk him off. He glared at her choice of words, but he accepted the attention; Austria rolled her eyes, then her whole body, turning over to her front, her breasts pressing pleasantly against the soft coverlet. 

" _Little_ \- tch, don't blame the Princess for your selfishness either, you- _witch_ ," Prussia ground out, but he was half-smiling, his hips angled towards France's brisk caress; it was strangely interesting to watch, France's obvious amusement at this mild torment, and Prussia's equally obvious enjoyment. Strange, because it seemed so familiar. Ordinarily, Austria would be tormenting him, and he would be folding under her caresses, but France seemed just as at home with the routine as she was. 

Then again, France was at home with almost anything. 

And it was all very pleasurable to watch, but that was the problem. 

"You call her _Princesse_ and you think she isn't selfish? She's more spoiled than me by far, aren't you, chérie?" 

"Excuse me..." 

"There's- _spoiled_ and then there's- hn- _spiteful_ , Frankreich- a-ah- " 

" _Excuse_ me," Austria said again, pulling herself up to her knees, her slip awkwardly pooled above her breasts, the lace hem a curtain over her nipples. They stared at her, and she coughed, casually clasping her hands in her lap. "Would one of you mind attending to the problem you have created? I do believe my participation was conditional." 

"Which problem would that be, my love? And what _were_ the conditions, I cannot recall- " France was feigning innocence, her fingers slick with Prussia's precome and her spare hand fondling his balls, and Austria breathed out her frustration like a small dragon. 

" _This_ problem, Frankreich," she bit out, her hand dipping to cup herself properly, her fingers pressing into her slit, fighting the urge to slip them inside- she wouldn't be lowered to masturbation, _yet_. Not with two perfectly good approximations of human beings in front of her. "And the condition _was_ , you use your mouth for something worthwhile at least eighty per cent of the time." 

"I don't remember agreeing to that, my turtle dove!" 

"Nonsense, of course you did." There was a bitter amusement to Austria's voice now as she struggled not to rub herself, her eyes flickering from France's teasing face to Prussia's tense body, her tongue passing over her flushed lips. "Didn't she, Preußen?" 

"Ah," he replied, eloquently. "She might've- no objections here, anyway- if you wanna use it for somethin' worthwhile _now_ \- " 

"But, but," France objected with a laugh, silencing Prussia with long strokes up his shaft, "I can't use it for _two_ worthy causes, however much I'd like to, unless you're willing to come to some sort of timeshare agreement. I cannot be in two places at on...ce." 

There was a pause, Prussia's mouth hanging open somewhat attractively, Austria's eyebrows arched and her lips upturned at the corners. France soon pursed hers, a wicked expression lighting up her face. 

"Well, perhaps I can try. For you, darling." 

\- 

It had seemed a logically appealing solution a few moments before, but now that Austria lay back against France's extremely comfortable pillows with her legs spread, France wriggling between them on all fours like she belonged there, she wasn't entirely sure anymore. It wasn't _that_ part that bothered her, not at all, not with France doing her usual thing and skipping the preamble, parting Austria's folds with her fingertips and licking away some of the wetness at her entrance- _that_ was a little ticklish, but perfectly fine. It was more the fact that Prussia was wiping his mouth after giving France some cursory preparation, and was now lining himself up behind her waiting rear, hefting her hips and ass up a little more to aid his entry. That was just _odd_. 

He was concentrating deeply on what he was doing, and Austria watched him, wondering if that was how he looked when he took _her_ from behind, or if it was just the current circumstance that made him extra focused. Was there any reason to feel slightly jealous of him having sex with another woman, one he'd had sex with before, for that matter? Probably not. 

"Go on, stick it anywhere you like," France said suddenly, half-muffled against Austria's vulva, and she shook her ass to emphasise her point; Prussia slapped one pert cheek for it, snorting. 

"Shut up...stay still, damn you," he said, grasping her by the hips; he pressed forward, and Austria took it, from the suddenness with which he entered, that he had not chosen the unorthodox point of entry. Or perhaps it wasn't unorthodox for either of them. He was awfully calm. If _she_ ever wanted something unorthodox, he always threatened to have a stroke. 

Was she a little jealous of them, after all? Probably. France was laughing breathily as she welcomed him inside, but Austria slid her fingers into those deep gold waves and pressed her down, gratified by the willing tongue she felt slip inside her. If she had to watch him fuck another woman, she wouldn't be made to wait. 

She _couldn't_ wait, anyway, not after such drawn-out foreplay, her free hand holding up one of her own legs as she shifted downwards, her hips angled up for complete exposure to whatever France was offering her. Dusky blue eyes flickered up to hers under a curtain of golden lashes, but her mouth worked obediently, even as Prussia began to thrust; he was leaning down heavily on her, spreading her legs wider and pulling her hips back against his with each stroke. It jolted her, and Austria with her- a curious sensation- but that tongue didn't miss a beat, fervently stroking against her clit before delving inside her, curling and licking in a way that almost made Austria's own jaw ache in sympathy. 

But not too much sympathy. Prussia was grunting a little with effort as he moved, his fingers digging deep into France's hips- not as deep, Austria noted, as they could in _her_ ample flesh- he was obviously at the end of his rope, just the same as she was. His eyes were downcast, perhaps focused on the way France's ass shook with his thrusts, or the way her shirt rode all the way up to reveal a complete lack of tan lines at her upper back. 

Without thinking, Austria clutched France's hair a little harder, drawing a glance of surprise, and a moan of pleasure- she always was too excitable for her own good, urging Austria to harsher treatment, rewarding it with wanton service. Austria felt her leave wet, hard kisses up to her clit, sucking tenderly- France's skill never diminished even in the most fraught of circumstances, it was remarkable- and she surprised herself with a sudden cry that broke the floodgates; she was arching from the bed now, voicing each shuddering breath more loudly than the last. 

Prussia looked up at last, and met her eyes; it was strange, France either barrier or bridge between them, but it was as if a connection existed between them still, without touch, without words. Her moans seemed to spur him on, his breathing growing ragged as he thrust more fiercely, pulling France back on to him by the hips at a pace Austria shivered to imagine feeling inside herself. He didn't take his eyes off her, and she felt a craving to feel tongue replaced by cock- France seemed to read her mind, and she gave her the next best thing, pushing two, perhaps three fingers inside her, she couldn't tell. Didn't care, either, trembling as they stretched her, France taking gasping breaths when she wasn't lapping at Austria. Even she had her limits, her body heaving with the lack of oxygen, but it seemed to give her a rush- unless it was the frantic pace Prussia was reaching as he approached his own climax. 

Austria wondered, in a blank second, whether France was as close to the edge as they were. It was so hard to tell, with her. 

Then she forgot all about it, a broken sound wresting itself from her throat- nearly a laugh and a pained cry, all at once, as her hips jerked involuntarily, every muscle seizing. It was a shock, a quick, hard sense of completion, a rush of pleasure wracking her for a moment, then leaving her, spent and breathless. She had her eyes closed when Prussia gave a gasp, then, true to form, spat a string of curses, rocking the bed violently, and coming to a still. Perhaps he had been watching her; she never knew, hearing and feeling him hit the soft bedcovers before she opened her eyes again. 

"...M... _Magnifique_." France almost sounded hoarse. She was sweaty and flushed- or, well, glowing might have been the preferred term- resting her head on Austria's equally luminous thigh, her fingers idle inside her. Austria squirmed, and they were slowly retracted, with lingering eye contact, coming to rest in France's mouth as she sucked them clean. 

"You..." _Never mind._ She didn't have a lot to say; instead, she lay there, chest rising and falling, watching her companions through lidded eyes and wondering what next. 

Prussia answered her unspoken question by heaving himself off his back and crawling up the bed, with a series of groans so guttural he might have fallen from a third-floor window, not merely engaged in coitus. 

"Ah...and now he's useless to anybody," France observed, earning a dirty look for her trouble, though he didn't exactly protest. He dragged himself up to the pillows, making to lie with Austria, but there was a strange hesitance to his movements; she turned to look at him as he settled beside her, and somehow both of them seemed abashed. It had been a long time since either of them had slept with someone else, in front of each other. The natural urge to curl up together in their afterglow seemed slightly less natural when they hadn't actually had sex- but France was watching them intently, and when she shimmied up to wrap her arms around Austria's waist and lay her head against her soft belly, it was like she was encouraging them. 

It sort of worked; Prussia slipped his arm around Austria's shoulders, and she rested against him, one hand gingerly petting France's hair- it was about as peaceful as the three of them had ever been. Peaceful, but awkward. Austria had no idea what to say; there had been something...exciting, satisfying, yet discomfiting about climaxing in tandem with Prussia, with France between them. That just wasn't the sort of pillow talk she was comfortable having. 

The silence stretched, and France stretched with it, her legs splayed out behind her without a care, buttocks still reddened. She made no move to clean herself up, as Austria might have; she probably relished the...feeling. 

"Well, now, _mes amis_ , am I to take no news as good news? Have you been fucked insensible? Or are you feeling shy?" She looked and sounded smug. Prussia clucked his tongue irritably, leaning his head against Austria's. 

"What d'you want, a speech? A fuckin' thank-you note? Give it a rest for five minutes, will you? 'M just...thinking." He was gruff, looking at the ceiling and fiddling with his hair, ruffled by the humidity of his body. Austria had to admit, she felt a little deprived, accustomed as she was to his full attention, no interlopers in their intimacy. France was as affectionate to her as ever, but that was just France. She felt like she was in limbo, and she suspected Prussia felt the same. Not that reading his mind made her feel any better...but she didn't feel _bad_ , with France's warm weight on her, and her singsong voice rather soft to listen to. 

"Oh, thinking, are you? After _that_? I'm certainly surprised, Prusse," she was saying, toying now with a strand of her hair. "You're not a great thinker in your best moments, let alone after the _deed_. Why, I do remember you running out of my tent and right into a catastrophic excuse for a military manoeuvre, more than once- " 

"Don't- hey, shut up!" 

"Your boss was looking for you, and your brother- ah, the handsome one- Saxe, he was marching on you, all of a sudden- and off you ran without even buttoning your breeches!" 

" _Tais-toi,_ pain in the ass- don't talk about that shit now, Christ!" Prussia threw a pillow at her, aggravated, but she dodged, with a graceful roll and an ungainly cackle, tumbling right off the bed and immediately rooting through a nightstand drawer- for what, Austria couldn't guess. Prussia grumbled, but he settled down, and would have buried his head in Austria's chest if she wasn't sitting up to watch what France was up to. He followed her to do it anyway, and she let him slide her into his lap, wrapping her legs loosely around him and trailing her hands down his back, idly rubbing the broad muscles there. 

"What are you up to, Frankreich?" she asked, peering over Prussia's shoulder; France's head popped up from beside the bed, and she held a finger to her elusive smile before suddenly thrusting something _huge_ and _neon pink_ into Austria's view. She nearly jumped out of her skin. 

"W-What is- " Austria stopped herself, clapping a hand to her mouth as France waved her _phallus_ merrily, clambering back up to the bed. 

"What's what?" Prussia made to turn around in interest, but Austria clutched him to her bosom, scandalised. 

"Nothing for you to concern yourself with, I'm sure," France drawled, and she flopped on her back just behind him, legs sprawling, and pressed the hot pink tip of her toy against herself. "Just a little _ladies'_ thing, dear boy." 

"Tch, there's only one lady here and it's- c'mon, what's she doing? Österreich," he whined, resisting Austria's hold to crane his neck around; she blushed red as France slid a considerable length inside, feeling suddenly highly opposed to Prussia viewing such _ladies' things_. Even her own, er, accessories, she was selective in how much she let him play with them- some were better with two, of course, those cleverly shaped little vibrators, or the _plugs_ , but- pulling a colourful silicone penis out in the middle of proceedings, it just seemed indelicate. 

And offensive, apparently. 

"H-Hah- wait...what, you didn't get enough, did you?!" Prussia's grin was a little frozen, his flustered uncertainty rising with the flush in his neck. France pursed her lips, slowly pushing the toy further until the base pressed against her, and her expression broke a little as her hips twitched. 

"Not from _you_ , Prusse, but I don't hold it against you," she said, and Austria had to clutch at Prussia not to be jolted out his lap when he bristled at the accusation. 

"But- you- _I felt_ \- " He broke off, stunned at the possibility that he _hadn't_ blown France's mind, embarrassed at the dawning likelihood of it, then furious, perhaps at her for not being as orgasmic as advertised. "R-Really?! You really didn't- you- _you_!" 

She was poorly suppressing a grin, and he jabbed a finger in her direction, outraged. Perhaps it meant something between them, Austria couldn't say. France was awfully hard to read, not like herself. If Austria hadn't climaxed, her partner would know instantly from her pout, and she'd take care to give them a formal explanation if they didn't jump to correct it. And if she _had_ , well, the neighbourhood usually heard it. 

"Oh, don't be such a baby," France laughed, in response to Prussia's exaggerated sulking, his head buried once again in Austria's breasts- he held them protectively each side of his head, squeezing, perhaps to relieve stress. It was a tad embarrassing, but she'd gotten used to a permanent heat in her cheeks, so she let it be, watching France instead. 

This, she'd seen before, and not always with pink silicone. Indeed, each new development in the manufacture of sex toys had been put to the test in France's bedroom, or so it seemed. She recalled her _first_ encounter with one, wooden in those days, dark and polished to a fascinating shine (no splinters, thank God). France had sent it as a late wedding present, or something, probably pushing it on a drunken Spain who dutifully brought it home. Austria had been a little more Catholic at the time; she'd banished it to the back of a wardrobe, until France had seen fit to visit her, and...explain. 

She'd been a virgin then, she mused- or, well, not quite. The definition had perhaps shifted since her day, but it was somewhere between Spain's fingers and Hungary's cock, put it that way. France had been _instrumental_ in advancing her career as a professional bride, so to speak. In a way, one could blame France for everything leading up to this day. 

Austria couldn't truly hold it against her, however she tried. It had been good then- being teased and gently stretched, taught the inner workings of her own body- and it was good now, watching France take the entire, rather excessive length of her toy in swift strokes, the clear pink plastic coming out slick and shiny. Austria's hips moved in response, shifting closer in Prussia's lap; she felt him respond, letting her breasts go in favour of grabbing her ass instead, pulling her against him. 

France, of course, noticed, rolling on her side to watch, her movements slowing to idleness. "So soon? Prusse, you're getting younger and more vigorous every time I fuck you." 

"Shut the hell up." 

It wasn't exactly instant. Prussia felt _old_ , sometimes, these days, but France was half-right, he was at least invigorated by, among other things, having Austria's tits in his face (always a motivator). He nipped at her, liking to hear her gasp a little, her nipples sensitive and firm in his mouth. Her body was enough to get thousand-year-old bones moving, thick thighs melting like butter under his strong fingers, her back arching to push her soft, wet lips against him, and though he couldn't quite pull himself together _yet_ , he felt an answering stir. He busied himself with her chest, ducking his head almost to her navel to taste her cool ivory skin, then travelled up to her neck, to bite her until she whimpered. He felt like he was making up for lost time, though she hadn't been out of his sight or reach; he'd _enjoyed_ taking France, a certain thrill in fucking her that way, overwhelming and bruising- even more while her head was buried between Austria's luscious legs- but still, there was something there, making him anxious. Guilt- the Catholic kind, embodied by Austria to this day. It wasn't that _she_ ever felt it. She just induced it in him. Fucking Habsburg. 

He forgave her, mostly, when she pressed her tongue into his mouth, letting him run his hands over every inch of her. She was too pretty not to, sighing nicely when he palmed between her legs, her lipstick streaking his jaw. But he had to take advantage of her distraction to shift around a bit, get an eyeful for himself of France's shameless self-sufficiency. She'd always done that- tormented him by touching herself, when he was younger and uncertain whether he really _wanted_ to be in her clutches right now, and then later, she'd driven him nuts by playing coy about her pleasure. He'd only ever understood she was goading him into round after round of aggressive sex _after_ they'd finished. But he looked on those memories with a smile, when she wasn't watching. 

She was watching now, and he dragged his eyes away from her pussy to meet hers, swallowing hard. She had a sharp, shrewd sort of gaze, it wasn't unlike his own, and yet it echoed something in Austria's soft, regal glance. That was too much to contemplate, and Prussia returned his attention to the woman in his arms, thrusting his fingers in to make her moan, encouraging her to touch him in return. 

"Love your hands," he muttered, almost involuntarily, and Austria shushed him, wrapping both her hands around his half-hardness and stroking firmly. He could let her play with him all day, normally, but it was dawning on him how difficult things were with two women- and he still considered it a challenge to fully satisfy one. He bucked into Austria's touch, his mouth and hands all over her, with little direction, but he kept looking towards France, the sight of her making him ache. He wished she'd take her blouse off, let him see that lithe body spread out on the bed- he could see her nipples through the fabric, he was dying to pull on them, to squeeze her modest, perfectly perky breasts. 

She must have known she was driving him to distraction, because she made a production out of slowly pulling her dildo out, her hips stretching off the bed until it popped out and she lay down with a sigh. Prussia watched it catch the light, obnoxiously pink- and then felt his cock jump when she brought it to her mouth, licking it carelessly before pushing the whole head in. 

He heard Austria breathing hard near his ear, and realised that he wasn't breathing at all. 

"You filthy little harlot, Frankreich," Austria murmured, and Prussia jumped. He hadn't realised she was watching, nor that she had such a phrase in her vocabulary, but something about the way she said it made him press urgently into her hands. 

"The same," France said, beaming with pride, and she put her toy back in her mouth- like a dog, Prussia thought- in order to crawl past them and slip off the bed again, kneeling at the foot of it. "You know, bringing a man along is a bit inconsiderate, my flower, they're so slow. But is he ready?" 

"Firstly, don't fuckin' talk about me like I'm not here- " 

"Ready for _what_?" Austria cut in, with a firm grip on his cock. He grimaced, wondering for a fleeting second what his Old Man would say if he knew _how much_ he loved being slapped around by women. France tittered at him from behind her neon dick, the bitch. 

"For a lesson, chérie. Now, this is for you, too, Autriche," she said, like some twisted teacher, patting the edge of the bed. Her blouse was more open than before, Prussia could see a flash of nipples when she moved, but he shook himself free of that contemplation when France continued. "I shall demonstrate the art of fellatio, sometimes called the blowjob, or sucking cock, or..." She broke off, smiling at their expressions. "...while otherwise engaged, in this case, with this lovely thing here. A worthy subject, I'm sure you'll agree." 

He could feel Austria bristling, but he couldn't really object, himself. 

\- 

France was carefully mounting her dildo on the wooden floor, the suction cup base holding it still as she tested it with a flick of a finger. It bounced vulgarly before she promptly sat on it, dropping to the floor with ease, completely filled. It gave Austria a shudder to think of ever being so- well- it was a word she wouldn't say, either way. But she'd given in to this 'lesson', out of unvoiced curiosity. Prussia sat at the edge of the bed now, and she hovered behind him to watch, her hands firm on his shoulders and her bare breasts against his back- just to remind him of her presence. He was almost completely hard, his legs spread to let France get close, and though he was flushed and a little tense, she could tell he was anticipating those red lips. 

It annoyed her, ever so slightly, but even she could admit that she was ambivalent about going down on him. Or, rather, she enjoyed having him in her mouth, in a scandalous way, but she was too lazy to do it often, too spoiled to forgo her own pleasure, and too modest to do half the things France would. She couldn't entirely blame him for wanting a round with an expert- he hadn't said anything about her letting France perform for _her_ , after all...but she still did, _a little_. 

Still, she might learn something, shameful as it was to consider, at her age. She'd been too shy to properly watch France attend to a gentleman on other occasions- or too inebriated. 

"Watch carefully, darling." France took Prussia in her hand, feeling the length of his shaft before she dipped her head. "Mind if I skip the verbal explanations?" 

There was no question that her mouth was far too occupied to talk. She began with her tongue, as Austria would, but there was no hesitation- running it up from his base to his tip and all around the head, several times, quick and firm. Prussia shifted closer to her, a soundless exhalation leaving him with some of his tension, and she took that as a sign to take him in her mouth. One hand at his base, massaging him, she began to suck- from Austria's point of view above, her golden hair shook as her head gently bobbed, her elbows resting on his thighs for support. She only saw how France's mouth moved when she came up for air, holding eye contact with them both while she sucked and tongued at his head. Or perhaps it wasn't for air but for amusement, she wasn't breathless at all. 

"Closer," she said, indicating that Prussia should slide his hips forward, and he complied silently, his breathing growing heavier. He had to spread his legs wide to brace himself, and France stroked his inner thighs, her lips and tongue eager on him now. It was as if she was teasing him, Austria thought, or playing with her meal before she ate it, not taking him in too deeply, nor exerting herself too much. She was rocking her hips, too, bouncing in place a little on her dildo. Austria made furtive mental notes about proper breathing, and above all, _control_. France definitely had it. 

"Deep breaths," she said suddenly, grinning wickedly, and she took Prussia deep into her mouth, inching down until she could swallow him. His breathing hitched, and grew ragged, his hands twitching as if he wanted to hold her there, but he controlled himself. Austria slipped her hands down to his biceps, let them wander his chest, only her eyes peeking over his shoulder now. It was _hot_ , as he would say. Agonisingly, ambiguously so. 

France held him easily, demonstrating her prowess by sucking in long, slow motions, deepthroating him each time. She pressed his legs back against the bed, until he was thrusting his hips out towards her and leaning back on his hands to keep himself upright, his toes braced against the floor. Giving himself to her, his eyes closing as groans began to escape him, then a curse or two, his fingers screwing up the sheets. Austria impulsively kissed his neck, and he moaned aloud as if he was unable to stop himself. 

He was on the edge, maybe even overstimulated, and France took the moment to pull back a bit, adjusting the toy inside her. Over time, she'd forced Prussia to move until he could hardly hold his position any longer; now she pushed him back until he was almost lounging, spreadeagled to one side, and Austria scrambled to make room for him. 

"You know what I want," she said, laughing a little as she dipped her head to give his sac the benefit of her tongue, sucking hard. She tapped Austria's hand, gesturing to Prussia's cock; after a pause, Austria complied, leaning down to stroke him. France was busy in other areas. "Show me your hole, you naughty boy." 

She was singsong, and cringeworthy enough to have Prussia groaning into his hand, red-faced, but he obligingly spread for her, and Austria was fascinated. Shocked, as France tongued him, as if it was something she always did, and he didn't complain, as if he was used to it. He'd spent a lot of time with _men_ , of course, and loved it- and she knew what he liked, when she allowed the use of her box of tricks, and they explored a little further than they normally did, on heady summer nights. But it was an interesting vision- _France_ bending him over something and having her way. And Prussia failing to make a fuss about it. It must have been good. 

This was just a teaser, though, France giving him her full attention, leisurely between his spread cheeks, before she moved back up over his balls, up to his tip, Austria moving out of her way. She braced her hand instead on his abdomen, feeling it tense and shake. But to her surprise, France grabbed it. 

"He does love your fingers, and so do I, my sweet," she sang, and she tugged Austria down to give her fingers a quick suck, wetting them thoroughly. 

"I- y-you, ah, mean- " 

"He needs a firm _hand_ ," France said, her own fingertips pushing inside Prussia, to make her point; he made some kind of noise, scarlet as he hid his face in the sheets, but he spread his legs further. "But you know that. Look at him...he's gagging for it." 

This time, the noise sounded like 'go fuck yourself, Frankreich', but the efficacy of the insult was debatable, given the circumstances. 

Austria was hesitant, but she could also feel her inner thighs growing wet; with France's guidance, she gave in, inching along on hands and knees until she could reach down behind him, and push one finger into his hole, little by little. She found him prepared, and he took a second easily, his panting behind her audible as France, in turn, took his cock back into her mouth. 

She wasn't an expert in male pleasure- not even after all this time- but she curled her fingers as she began to move them in him, getting used to the heat, and his tightness, not nearly as much of an obstacle as her own would be. He seemed to like it, noisy behind her, and she couldn't blame him; France was moving in earnest this time, taking him in deep, long strokes, her hips rocking on her toy. It was terribly vulgar, when Austria thought about it, so she didn't, kissing Prussia's inner thigh instead, and tentatively pressing her mouth to his sac, feeling it grow tight with his arousal. He wouldn't take much more. 

Austria felt him sit up on his elbows, from her awkward position almost crouched over his body, and then she felt him grab her leg, pulling her hips towards him. Unable to see, her breath caught in her throat when his tongue touched her, first between her lips, then lapping all the way up between her cheeks, teasing her. She blushed, but she couldn't say much with her fingers buried inside him, thrusting against what she hoped was his sensitive spot. Now this was vulgar, but somehow, she didn't mind a bit. 

Prussia was flagging, though, she could tell, his fingers spreading her haphazardly, his tongue sloppy. He was breathing hard, probably holding his orgasm off as long as he could, but with France bouncing in place the way she was, it wouldn't last. Austria pushed her ass back towards him, her fingers thrusting up to the knuckle inside him, and she reached out to grasp France by the hair, pushing her down; if they were going to be this lewd, she'd take advantage of the moment to join in. France eyed her, winking, before letting herself be directed, taking Prussia entirely and letting Austria pull her up, once, twice- and then he came, with a loud cry and bucking hips, his hands gripping Austria's thighs tightly. 

France would have finished it neatly, moaning as she did so, but Austria, in a moment of capriciousness, tugged her up by her hair; it seemed to do something for her, Austria could see her legs trembling as she slowed in her riding. She opened her mouth obediently, uncaring as Prussia's come splashed her face, licking it from her lips with relish. Awful. 

"Oho, I didn't know you liked the spa treatment, Autriche," she laughed after she'd swallowed, breathless, and Austria let her go, wrinkling her nose; she gingerly pulled her fingers from Prussia, rolling off him to lie down and think about what she'd done. 

" _Spa treatment_? I- I _don't_ , but you obviously do, you- hussy," she hissed. Prussia was boneless beside her. She watched him quietly, in his fugue, then prodded his cheek with her toe, and he promptly grabbed her foot and tickled it. " _Eee-_ don't, you fool!" 

He was laughing, a lot more awake than she could ever have been, after _that_. "Don't put your foot where I can get it, Princess. C'mere- hey- shit, Frankreich..." 

He'd made to pounce on a squealing Austria, but he'd stopped midway, catching sight of France. It was as if he'd forgotten for a second that they were three in a bed, and now he couldn't help but remember, with France a picture of, well, _France_ before them. She was still on the floor, casually pulling her dildo out and setting it to one side. Her face was smeared with lipstick and semen, her hair tumbling loose in a way it never usually did, and now she was tugging her shirt off at last. She caught them both staring, and she raised an eyebrow. 

"Carry on, my loves," she said, stripping off completely, except for those stockings. "But honestly, you're both so _messy_. Just look at my room, would you? Good grief. And my face, I'm sure!" 

But she didn't sound displeased, even though it was true that clothing and pillows were scattered everywhere. Prussia gave Austria an abashed look as France wiped her face off with her shirt, tossing it across the room. 

"Gimme a minute, I'm gonna pi- powder my nose," he said, kissing her soundly, then clambering off the bed and making his exit to the bathroom. As she lay down again and watched him go, upside-down, she thought he was probably going to give himself a pep talk in the mirror about what he'd just experienced. Or Twit about it, or whatever he did. He was beet red, either way. 

\- 

"So, does he hide from you after you blow him, or is it just me?" France eyed the closed bathroom door, before resting her head on Austria's shoulder again. "It's rude, if you ask me. But then again, he does go to pieces, doesn't he? The poor boy." 

She chuckled, watching Austria for a reaction; the other woman was sitting in her lap, her magnificent breasts about eye level, her slip discarded somewhere. France dandled her a bit on her knees, as if she was a child, though she had to say, she was far heavier than one. She got her reaction in the form of a snort. 

"If you _will_ insist on these activities," she said, and then, with a glance to the bathroom, "and he hasn't been so very long. Good Lord, he is not a teenager, I don't know what more you want from him." 

"Nothing, nothing," France insisted, squeezing Austria's hips happily. "We girls are perfectly fine by ourselves, I know, but I'm concerned for him. As a friend." 

She had to bite back a smile at Austria's aristocratic glower. "A friend." 

"Well, if you were putting your cock- if you had one- in someone's mouth, you'd want them to be a friend." 

"You would do _that_ to nearly anyone," Austria said derisively. "Friend or foe, and I believe you are closer to the latter than the former." 

"Oh, don't be silly. It's all water under the bridge, ancient history. Living in the past will give you crow's feet, darling," she replied, peering at the corners of Austria's eyes, just to see her hands fly to them. "You can use my Clarins- oof- " 

" _Honestly_!" Austria crossed her arms in a huff, and France rubbed her breast where a sharp slap had caught her. Damned unsporting place to hit. Austria was always a little free with her _corrective measures_ , but France couldn't say she disliked it. "Do you want me to take a slipper to you? Behave." 

"I'd love nothing more," she said honestly, and she wrapped her arms around Austria, nuzzling her neck and bosom. "Don't be angry, you selfish little cabbage-flower. After I made you scream..." 

"I hardly _screamed_." Austria was gruff, but she settled down under caresses and kisses, her hair tumbling untidily in range of France's twining fingers. She was as beautiful as she had been at the height of her power, and a little less annoying these days, you couldn't go wrong. It was easier to get her knickers off, as well...then again, she never used to wear them. One quick flip of all her skirts and there she was, it was a simpler time. 

"Frankreich," she murmured, frowning, that drawling German ugly in anyone else's mouth (in France's opinion), but quite pretty on her tongue. France couldn't help herself; she pulled the other woman down, her fingers sliding into rich dark curls, with a mind to kiss her, to try and taste whatever it was that made her words so musical. 

But Austria pressed her fingers against France's lips, pursing her own. 

"You _must_ brush your teeth. And bathe, I should think." 

"Oh, don't act as though the only things you put in your mouth are chocolate cake and the Eucharist." 

"It doesn't matter what's been in my mouth!" 

Austria was just turning that nice shade of pink she always did when she got worked up, when they heard the click of the bathroom door, and Prussia sidled out, leaning against the frame with one muscular leg cocked to preserve a shred of modesty. His teeth gleamed white as he grinned. 

"Sometimes she won't kiss me, either," he said, and France made a face at his cheeky wink, his hands behind his head. "Nice bathroom, Frankreich." 

"You've spent enough time in it," she replied, bright as acid. "What have you been up to, hmm? Praying?" 

"You have church on the brain," Austria interjected, huffy. "Perhaps we all ought to- " 

"Shower?" Prussia pushed himself upright, and France, her eyes lingering on the sharp definition of his obliques and abdomen, had to give him points for keeping himself in shape; but then, what else do retirees have to do? Other than sex. Golf? 

His buttocks were just as sculpted to watch as he strolled back into her bathroom, although perhaps on the small side. Nothing so nice as the pair she had perched in her lap. She gave them a good squeeze, grinning at Austria. 

"You were quite right, Autriche. Come, let's wash away the shame, shall we." 

\- 

It didn't take much to persuade Austria into the shower, Prussia knew that much. A bath was her preference, but fitting two bodies into the tub and then moving around vigorously, as you did, tended to flood the place. The shower had been a compromise, especially in summer- wet, soapy fun that left her feeling clean instead of filthy, and didn't end with water dripping through the kitchen ceiling. Besides, he liked to do it standing up and see her legs turn to jelly. 

France had hustled Austria into the bathroom after him before absconding to struggle out of her stockings, and now he was in charge of her- persuading her, that is, a continuous effort. He led her over the glittering black tiles- and the floor was _heated_ , he couldn't believe the expenses France was getting away with- to the corner of the room, where a freestanding shower was housed behind glass. Room enough for three or more, by design, if he knew her at all. He reached up to turn on the water, testing it and fiddling with the dials. 

"Ow- shit- there we go," he said, ducking under it and letting it run for a moment, soaking his hair and running down his back. Austria stood watching him with her arms folded, but when he offered her a hand, she tossed her hair and took it, joining him. 

"It could be hotter," she said, as she rolled her neck, the water massaging her shoulders. 

"You'll be hot enough, in a sec," Prussia said, eyebrows waggling and hands wandering to her ass; she rolled her eyes, but she put her arms around his neck, and he considered that an invitation to feel her up. 

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she asked, nose to nose with him. "You can't possibly be up to it _again_. And there is nowhere to- do it, here. We would slip and break our necks. And we are supposed to be cleaning up, we are not going to..." 

She trailed off, squinting down to inspect him, and though he wasn't exactly hard, he _could_ be, if she played her cards right. In his opinion. In a minute. He heard France laughing from the direction of the sink and shot her a scowl. 

"Finished yet?! Had to piss, hm?!" 

"Don't comment on ladies' personal affairs," she said airily, and she took a large swig of mouthwash from a blue bottle, waving it at Austria while she swished it around in her mouth and spat. " _There_. Now, get out of the way, Prusse, for heaven's sake. Some of us want to wash." 

That was a lie, and there was a tussle as France elbowed her way into the shower, but it settled down when Austria thrust a washcloth in France's face and threatened Prussia with a bar of soap. 

And then some washing did happen, soap slathered over France's front somehow ending up all over Austria's back, her body growing sudsy and slippery as two pairs of hands gave every inch of her a good scrub. She braced herself against Prussia, pressing up against him- to give him the benefit of a good wash, too- while France hugged her from behind, fantastically-tinted bubbles running down their legs and floating through the steam around them. It was growing hot, the glass completely fogged; Austria spoiled it, her fingertips leaving long streaks like cat's claws, while France made sure she was squeaky clean between her legs. 

It was only fair she returned the favour, and besides, she was losing her balance like that. She let herself be guided to the shower floor, sitting on curled legs, her hair drenched against her skin. France unfolded a seat from the wall, dropping into it with wide-spread legs; Austria gave her a once-over, she was just as soaked, her hair darker now that it was wet and plastered to her face. Her smile was intoxicating, her body sunkissed, erotic under the running water, as if she was a model in some magazine that pretended to be about sport. 

She was drawn from her reverie by Prussia's touch. He'd set himself down behind her, his hands coming to rub her back and pull her hair back neatly, but she suspected he probably wanted to watch, and, well, that was fine, somehow. She held on to the edge of France's little seat, and leaned forward, her tongue delicate in France's folds, examining the firm clitoris, the swollen lips. She tasted of- nothing, just warmth and water, a pleasant texture against her curious mouth. The water ran over them like rain, the shower right overhead, and though it got in her eyes and probably made the remains of her makeup streak her face, she merely closed them, concentrating. On the sensation of Prussia's hands, travelling down her belly to her hips, and on the subtle, throaty sounds she was pulling from France, barely audible over the water. 

France was polite, almost docile as Austria pleasured her, though whether as a precautionary measure or because she was so relaxed, Austria couldn't say. She appreciated it, though, no rough hands in her wet hair, no bucking hips, just her body, willing and open for Austria to explore at her leisure. She hadn't been with a woman in some time, hadn't had the pleasure- and anyway, she usually demanded more than she gave. Here in the warm, heavy atmosphere, under the water, she didn't mind it. She moved in slow strokes, her tongue always deliberate, her eyes flickering up regularly before she cast them down again. She was tentative as she pressed her lips down, putting pressure on France's clit for a while, before licking gently again. Austria never rushed anything. 

Behind her, Prussia was taking his fill of her, his hands grasping her breasts, rubbing her hips; she answered him by shifting from her sitting position, and he took the cue, pulling her into his lap. She could feel him- she'd been mistaken to think of him as past his days of endless lovemaking, although she was certain he'd be nothing but aches and creaks tomorrow- but for today, she wasn't going to stop him. 

He slid into her easily under the running water, but he was slow. Out of consideration for her or concern for himself, perhaps. She moved her knees apart for him, but made no other effort, focusing on France, who hiked a leg up to rest her foot on a shelf, sinking down lazily towards Austria. Between them, there began a gentle rhythm, Prussia pushing her forward with his careful thrusts, and she in turn using pressure that waxed and waned with her movements; a count started in her head, she couldn't help it, and her tongue moved to it. 

She was content like that, but soon Prussia's hips began to thud more forcefully against her, the noise magnified by her wet skin, slapping and splashing. He pulled her down as he thrust up, and the angle found him pressing against her good spot each time, throwing her count off just a little. It wasn't rough, but it was firm, deliberate, with a reverent caress at her abdomen that gave her something she supposed might be butterflies. 

It was distracting. 

"Mmh- little to the left, _Princesse_ ," France quipped, breathless and hard to hear, and she took Austria by the chin, guiding her; Austria could only do as she was told, panting now in the steam and the _heat_. Prussia had been right, though it was his fault, his body heat overwhelming her as he clutched her tight and breathed in her ear, filling her to the hilt. There was enough moisture in the air to drown her, without France's wetness against her lips, down her chin- it was inconsiderate, truly, like the rest of the evening, and she applied her teeth in a flash of vindictiveness. France moaned, resting her head back against the tiles, her hair sticking to them in wild strands; she pushed Austria's hair back out of her eyes for her, her hand lingering on the top of her head, urging her on. "Make me come, Autriche- ah- " 

She ought to have told her off for _talking_ , but to Austria's internal consternation, she was all out of words, her tongue aching against France's flesh, her body burning up in Prussia's grip. She clutched at France's legs, suckling her lips and whimpering against them, the eroticism of obediently using her mouth competing now with a piercing physical pleasure. She wondered distantly who would break first; when Prussia bent her forward, swearing and praising her in the same breath, to take her that little bit harder, she had to admit it was probably going to be her. 

She finished with a high, trembling voice, crying out in her stifled way; the pulsating, clenching sensation of her pleasure seemed to generate black spots in her vision, and she almost slipped from where she was leaning on France's legs, but they weren't finished with her. Prussia held her, his lips fervent against her ear and her cheek, fucking her all the harder against her sudden tightness. France, too, was clutching her in place, thrusting against her mouth with a lurid laugh of enjoyment. It was all she could do to put pressure on France's clit, flexing her tongue, any complicated manoeuvres beyond her now with the sensation between her legs almost turning to numbness- but she felt a sudden spreading warmth, and Prussia heaved a full-body shudder against her back, and it was over. 

Mostly. 

Prussia slipped out of her, and she made a little noise in her throat, feeling his come drip down her thighs to be rinsed away; he fell apart behind her, sprawling on the shower floor, and she untucked her cramped legs at last. France looked down at her, beguiling blue eyes screwed up, wide grin slipping a little- it was a wonder to see that facade crack ever so slightly at last, and when Austria felt a leg tremble against her cheek, she knew she had absurd power, just for these few seconds. It made it easier to gently move her exhausted tongue over that needy little nub, slowly, slowly- until France's toes curled high in the air, a shaky, laughing moan echoing off the tiles. 

Austria politely licked her clean, then promptly collapsed on her side to let the shower massage her entire body. Or drown her, possibly. 

\- 

Dealing with a post-coital Austria was always something of a chore. She would be tired, and refuse to move. Or, she'd demand to _be_ moved, unable to lift a limb herself. She'd be dehydrated, of course, and water usually wouldn't do, it had to be coffee, or that questionable Almdudler stuff she liked to drink. And then, if you were going to the kitchen anyway, why not bring her some sweets? But God help you if she'd suffered any discomfort, if her knees were bruised or her back was aching, or if anything was _sore_. Then you might as well call the doctor- for yourself, after you'd put your back out massaging her all night. 

It was a known hazard, and a pain in the glutes they loudly grumbled about, and yet it was exactly what happened to France and Prussia. Somehow, despite the protest of his lower back, Prussia had lifted her in his arms and carried her, koala-like (but he wouldn't mention marsupials out loud), back to bed; he'd made heated complaints, but he'd lavished attention on her long legs and arched back, all the same. And France, with a cigarette hanging from her mouth and wet hair curling down her shoulders, had soothed her like a flustered mother infatuated with a spoiled child, wandering away without a care to her nudity and coming back with a cup of cocoa. 

It kept her sweet, or as sweet as she was going to get with that slightly pouty, slightly pink face of hers in the aftermath, and it kept the peace. An incredible thing, between the three of them; time never quite took away the novelty. It wasn't all bad, modern living. 

France watched her guests with a slight smile by the low light of the wall sconces and the faint shine of the sleepwalking city outside, stretched on her side next to them. They made a darling couple, Austria's damp, dark locks fluffed up over the pillows by Prussia's idle fingers; he was looking at his phone instead of her, but they were talking- something in barely-intelligible German- and her soft doe eyes followed the movements of his face with every slight laugh or exclamation. 

"It's rude to speak in tongues when your hostess is sitting here." 

"It's rude not to learn anyone else's fuckin' language." Prussia spoke excellent French, but he exaggerated the harsh enunciation of his dialect to aggravate her, and what's more, he leaned right over and stole her cigarette out of her mouth. Austria merely sighed, sinking into the pillows, like a consumptive empress. 

"Both of you, keep your voices below twenty-five decibels," she ordered, but softly; France had to admit, even her commands could be delivered in velvet. It was a beautiful quality. A pity she often preferred to bark like a little Dachshund. She eyed Prussia, who pulled a face over Austria's prone form. 

"Yes, your Highness," they said, nearly in unison, and they broke down into laughter that had to be spluttered into the sheets or their hands, lest Austria slap someone. But she smiled, just a bit- and whipped her head around at a sudden flash. 

"What was that?" 

"A super-rare, one-of-a-kind, all-access VIP photo op- just for me!" Prussia said with a grin, easily stopping Austria from grabbing at the phone he was holding out of her reach, but at least he gave her knuckles a not-apologetic kiss. "Relax, Princess. When you smile, my hands just react by themselves! Nothin' to do with me!" 

"Oh, Prusse, take my picture," France said, and her tone told him everything about what kind of picture she wanted, if her pose sprawled out on her back didn't. He lifted his phone for a moment, slowly panning to take in her body through the viewfinder, and the temptation was written on his face, but in the end he grinned and changed tack. 

"C'mon, let's take a selfie...no, Österreich, it's not a fuckin' _gang thing_ \- " 

Between arguments about 'youth subcultures' and a terrible explanation of the Cloud, they managed to fall into a pose together. Prussia in the centre, phone held high at a precarious angle he'd obviously cultivated with practice, and an arm around Austria while she rested her head on him and made a dubious expression; she clutched her arms close to cover her breasts, while France, on Prussia's other side, did nothing of the sort, blowing a kiss to the camera. It was a good photo, and even Austria grudgingly admired it, but one was never enough for Prussia's vanity; the shutter went off again and again, capturing aggrieved nudges, sarcastic retorts, even the moment Prussia dropped his phone on his own head, but mostly smiles, smiles, smiles. And nipples. 

Later, as things settled down and Austria began to doze, France asked him if he intended to post the pictures anywhere, not that she'd _mind_ the publicity. 

"Nah," he'd said, sleepily scrolling, the glow lighting up his face in the dark room. "I told you, they're just for me. Wouldn't wanna get in _trouble_..." 

\- 

And back in Germany, an exhausted young man working through the night and existing mostly as a collection of caffeine molecules happened to be entering a dark office, phone in hand; he managed to fumble his way to Instagram instead of his email inbox, and then he managed to slam himself into the nearest filing cabinet, because naturally, he wasn't expecting to be confronted with nude photographs of one lucky guy and two aggressively lovely women. One raven-haired, curvaceous, pensive and blushing, the other blonde and lithe and charismatic, and between them, a collection of attractive scars and tightly flexed muscles, topped off with a roguish grin. 

Or in other words, his big brother, his ' _maiden_ ' aunt and the older woman down the street who kept making eyes at him. Caption: _best franco-german relations ive had since 1740s._ ♡ඩ⌔ඩ♡ತ ⌔̫ ತ♡ඩ⌔ඩ♡ _JEALOUS???_

Germany considered the possibility that he was asleep already, and having a terrible dream, but even if he wasn't, it was alright. He could always just lie down on the office floor to rest his eyes, and hope the concussion finished him off.

**Author's Note:**

> for your reference:  
> \- franco-german ministerial council is as described. this story is set around the spring meeting in 2016 (i...i think...)  
> \- la défense is a business district in paris, so named for a statue commemorating the siege of paris (~1870) by...you guessed it, prussia. food shortages during the siege forced restaurants to serve some unusual dishes, not just dog cutlets but everything from vermin to zoo animals(!). LEGIT I'M NOT MAKING THAT UP.  
> \- méduse: about medusa. yes  
> \- trocadéro is a nice ass place near the eiffel tower  
> \- almdudler...very popular austrian soft drink. something like a herbal and/or appley lemonade  
> \- i feel the need to say that my french is poor...je...je regrETTE


End file.
